let them come home

“Jake,” Marcus whimpered as he gathered him into his arms. He cradled Jake to his chest and lifted him from the transport. Jake made only the faintest sound, his head and limbs dangling in Marcus’s embrace. His fractured arm lay in his lap. Marcus was grateful for that, at least.

Marcus nearly tripped as he carried Jake to Lars’s front door. He didn’t bother setting Jake down to knock; he just used his boot to bang on the door.

“Come back with a fucking warrant!” came the furious shout from inside.

“Lars,” Marcus called helplessly. “Lars, it’s… it’s me. It’s Marcus. I got him. I got Jake.”

There was a long pause. The lock turned. Another lock clicked. The door swung open. A stunned-looking Lars stood in the doorway, clutching a gun.

Marcus stepped inside and pushed past Lars, already heading toward the guest room he knew was still set up from when he had stayed there last night. Lars followed right on his heels.

“I need your help,” Marcus said, his throat closing with panic. “He’s… he’s bad off. You have your—”

“Yeah, man, I got everything prepped after you left. I figured if… the stuff you said about… he might be in worse shape than—”

Marcus rounded the corner and nearly stopped short. The sheets and blanket had been pulled down, and the fitted sheet had been covered in puppy pads to catch the blood. Lars’s kit already sat beside the bed. A full bag of IV fluids hung from a nail in the wall.

Marcus’s eyes flooded with tears. “Thank you,” he rasped.

“Yeah,” Lars said heavily. “I’m assuming he can’t do hospitals either…?”

“No,” Marcus said, stepping forward into the room. “I just had a warrant out for me. He’s been… he’s already been… sentenced.” Gently, as gently as he could manage, he set Jake down and lay him out on the bed. Jake gasped and whined softly, rolling off of his back as best as he could. Marcus arranged him on his side. Jake shivered, and his one good eyelid fluttered.

“M-Marcus,” Jake croaked.

Marcus stayed kneeling beside the bed and ran his fingers through Jake’s hair. “I’m here, Jake,” he said softly. “I’m right here. You’re out of that place. You’re safe. You’re with… this is Lars, they’re gonna fix you up.”

Lars pulled on gloves and gave Jake a slight smile. “Hey, Jake,” they said. “Heard a lot about you.”

Jake whimpered. “It hurts…”

“Can you give him something for pain?” Marcus said. “Please… I didn’t have anything to give him, and the site was hours away. He’s been… he’s been beaten, he’s got a broken arm… he’s been shot, please.”

“He’s been shot?” Lars said. They reached for a space blanket and unfolded it over Jake’s body.

“A graze.” Marcus rolled Jake back onto his back, pointing to the blood-soaked, impromptu bandage on Jake’s upper arm.

“I’ll need to see what his blood pressure can handle, but…” Lars chewed their lip. “Marcus, I kinda need some space to work.”

Marcus glanced down at Jake. He was crying softly, sweat soaking his clothes and beading on his face as he looked up at the ceiling. His broken arm lay across his chest. The blood on his other arm had dried, cracking in horrible black-and-red patches any time he moved. Beneath the blood, too, there were bruises – down his arms, on his face, across his neck.

And there was probably more. There was undoubtedly more. Jake had cried out every time Marcus touched his back. He had probably been whipped; Marcus had known that deep down this entire time, and had just been too big a coward to lift Jake’s shirt.

Maybe he should go. He hadn’t wanted Jake to see this, when he was the one suffering. He should give Jake the same courtesy – even if it felt like he might die if he walked out that door.

I never wanted you to know.

He should leave. He had begged Jake not to witness this, when it was him suffering.

He stood up to go. Jake’s hand, weak and slow with shock, reached out and swiped at Marcus’s shirt. His fingers clutched the blood-stained fabric, and he managed to hold on even as his arm began to shake with the strain.

“M-Marcus,” Jake gasped. “Please.”

Marcus froze in place. He stared down at Jake’s unfocused eye. “Jake…”

“Don’t go.” Jake heaved a weak sob. “P-please…”

Marcus swallowed hard. He felt pulled down to that bed, as helpless to leave as a diver is to abandon their oxygen thirty feet underwater. He nodded. “Okay, Jake,” he said. “Just let me get in bed with you, okay?”

Jake shivered as Marcus stood and toed off his boots. He skirted Lars and crawled into bed on the far side, stretching out beside Jake and getting under the crinkly space blanket with him. Jake’s skin felt cold against his. Immediately, Jake turned away from Lars and folded against Marcus’s chest.

“Hey,” Lars said, kneeling at Jake’s other side. “Hey, Jake. My name’s Lars. I’m gonna help you out, okay? I’m a friend of Marcus’s. Gonna get you some meds, some fluids and stuff. Gonna get you cleaned up, too. I need you to turn toward me, though, okay? Need to take the blood pressure on your right arm, the one without the graze.”

“His right forearm’s broken,” Marcus said, gently guiding Jake to roll back toward Lars.

Lars sucked their teeth. “Damn. Alright. I can still take a blood pressure on it. I’ve got a brace for that, just nothing for casting here.” They wound a blood pressure cuff around Jake’s arm. Jake whimpered as Lars gently straightened out his arm.

“Shh,” Marcus murmured against the back of his neck. “It’s okay. We’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

Lars finished the blood pressure and nodded. “His pressure’s on the low side, but good enough to have the good stuff as long as I’m giving him fluids with it.” They set their cuff down and began to set up for an IV.

“Marcus,” Jake wept, turning again and burying his face in Marcus’s neck.

“I know,” Marcus said, cradling the back of Jake’s neck. The sensors in his hand picked up pieces of the gentle touch, but it felt… incomplete. He couldn’t feel the warmth of Jake’s skin, just a faint feeling of dull pressure. He swallowed and was careful not to press down too hard. “I know, Jake. But they’re gonna get you some meds… right?” He lifted his head to look at Lars over Jake’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Lars said. “I just need his arm.”

“Jake,” Marcus said into his hair. “Can Lars start an IV? They can get you some pain meds, okay?” He pressed a kiss there, then to Jake’s forehead. “Jake? Just for a sec, so they can start an IV. Then I can keep holding you.”

Jake didn’t roll back toward Lars. He just folded his left arm behind himself for Lars to take – like it was easy. Like he’d spent most of his time with his arms twisted behind him lately. Marcus’s eyes filled with tears.

“That good enough?” he said roughly.

“Yeah,” Lars said. “I can make that work.”

Marcus’s metallic hand trailed through Jake’s hair. He had to be so, so careful; he’d watched himself shatter the lock on the cell door. He knew he could crush Jake’s skull like an eggshell if he wasn’t careful. Lars had to scrub Jake’s forearm clean of blood before they started the IV. Once that was done, they pierced it with a needle and taped down the catheter. They picked up a tiny vial of medication and began to draw it up.

“What is it?” Marcus said through numb lips.

“Dilaudid,” Lars replied. “Less tightly controlled than HRT, if you can believe it.” They flicked the syringe to clear the bubbles. “Okay, Jake, here come the meds. They might make you feel woozy, so if you feel nauseated, just let me know, okay?”

Jake nodded weakly. “I feel woozy,” he whispered.

Marcus looked up at Lars. They had barely pushed in any medication yet. They wet their lips. “Yeah… that’s not from the meds. That might be from a… a few things. Blood loss, maybe. Or head trauma. But I’ll check you over once that’s in.” They finished pushing the meds and reached for the IV tubing. Once they had it hooked up, they began to let fluids run into Jake’s IV wide open.

Lars heaved a sigh. “Alright. That’s done. Now I need to take a look at you, if that’s okay. I’d like to get you out of your clothes, while I’m at it. But…” They cast a glance at Marcus. “Only if that’s okay.”

Jake trembled in Marcus’s arms. “It’s… it’s okay?” he breathed.

Marcus kissed his forehead. “It doesn’t have to be,” he said tightly, feeling how weak Jake’s body felt in his arms. “We don’t have to… to do anything to you that you don’t want.”

“It’s okay,” Jake whispered. He burrowed even deeper into Marcus’s chest. “Because I’m with you.”

Marcus had to hide his face in Jake’s hair as he drew in a deep breath. He nodded, and said, “Okay.”

He heard Lars take in a deep breath. “Are we… super attached to the clothes he’s wearing?”

“No,” Marcus said through his teeth. “We can fucking burn them, for all I care. They put him back in his… They…” He shuddered with rage and took his metal hand completely off of Jake. He couldn’t risk touching Jake when he was so incandescently angry. Not when it might be Jake who got hurt, instead of the entire fucking apparatus of AMTEC. He felt the breath of cool air as Lars pulled the space blanket back and brought shears to the top of Jake’s shirt. He heard the crisp sounds of splitting fabric as Lars began to cut.

“I got you,” Marcus whispered, letting his metal fingers brush Jake’s cheek. “They won’t hurt you. I got you.”

“I-I know,” Jake whispered back. “I trust you. I…” He heaved a shuddering sigh and moaned softly, going limp in Marcus’s arms. Marcus pulled back and looked at him. He still looked pale and clammy, but his face was slack, his one open eyelid drooping, his fingers weakly curling in Marcus’s shirt where before they had been locked in a fist.

“Lars?” Marcus said.

“That’s the dilaudid,” they said. “It hits pretty fast. And if that’s the first time he’s been out of pain in a while… oh shit.”

“What?” Marcus looked over Jake’s shoulder at them. They were staring at Jake’s back.

“Bad?” Marcus breathed.

Lars nodded.

“H-he’s been whipped?”

Lars’s throat bobbed. “No. I mean… yeah, yeah, he’s been…” They reached out and let their gloved fingers hover a centimeter above Jake’s skin. “Yeah, those are from a whip, I think. They look a lot like yours. But… these—”

“C-caned,” Jake murmured, eyes staring at nothing. “They caned me… last.”

Marcus’s throat tightened. “F-fuck.”

A tear slowly rolled from the corner of Jake’s eye, though his face was perfectly placid. “Didn’t… tell them, though, wouldn’t. Not to them.”

Marcus’s hand didn’t shake as he gently nudged Jake’s chin up. He wasn’t sure if that hand was capable of shaking. “They wanted… information? On what, on me?”

Jake’s eyes were fogged, as they met his. He weakly shook his head. “N-no,” he rasped. “You were dead, they didn’t care. They wanted to know if I… if I knew why I was there. Wanted a-a confession.” He whimpered softly. “I th-think they wanted to hear that I… regretted… what I did.”

“What do you mean, what you did?” Marcus said through numb lips.

“Loving you.” The words were near-silent, more mouthed than spoken.

Cold gripped Marcus from chest to feet. He swallowed with a throat that felt hardly large enough to breathe through.

“But I never let them hear me say it,” Jake said, another tear rolling from his eye. “Never. I never let them get their fucking footage.” Marcus’s breath punched out of him. “Th-they couldn’t… make me do it, Marcus, not to you.”

“Jake,” Marcus sobbed, holding him close again. Jake began to shake with sobs, face pressed against Marcus’s neck.

Lars cleared their throat. “Um… fuck, I’m really sorry, but… Jake, can I borrow your left arm again? I want to see if I can take a look at this graze. Maybe suture it for you. Would that be okay?”

Jake didn’t pull out of Marcus’s embrace even a little bit, simply held his arm behind him again. Marcus felt the slight shifts and tugs in Jake’s body as Lars removed the makeshift bandage. He heard them suck in a breath through their teeth as they saw the wound. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad, but definitely sutureable. I’ll do that and then I’ll take a look at your front, yeah? I see a lot of pretty bad bruising back here, but nothing that indicates you’ve got internal bleeding going on.”

Jake nodded silently. Marcus cradled him as Lars wiped the blood off his arm, only revealing more black and blue skin. Once he was clean, Lars picked up a suture kit and put on some fresh gloves. Jake hissed when the needle began to dip into his skin.

“Hey,” Marcus said. “I got you. Okay? I’m right here. I’m gonna be right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here, okay?”

“Yeah, Marcus,” Jake said as his tears soaked Marcus’s shirt. “M-my Marcus. You’ll stay with me.”

“My Jake,” Marcus said back, pressing kisses into Jake’s hair.

Continued here

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He had landed about a quarter of a kilometer away from the coordinates the dead AMTEC admin had given him, and walked the rest of the way on foot. The morning sun was behind him, and he squinted for any signs of life.

The guard in the first lookout hut had been asleep. Marcus hadn’t wasted a bullet on him. He just snapped his neck and grabbed his ID card. Marcus had kept walking after that, eyes peeled for the next lookout hut, for the razor wire – hell, for the hidden threats, like electronic tripwires or drones.

He didn’t find any. He just stumbled right onto the site, having met no resistance at all. The entire place was barely a few low buildings altogether, squatting in the desolate barrenness. He drew his gun and went straight for the building that looked the most like barracks.

Marcus swiped the dead guard’s ID badge to gain access, and found the barracks separated into two wings: staff, and officers. Not even enlisted. Staff. There were no officers in their wing, so Marcus quickly entered the staff wing. There were two people asleep there. Judging by the looks of their uniforms, one was some sort of cleaning technician, and the other food service.

Marcus quickly put them down. He didn’t feel like finding out too late that they knew how to handle firearms and were willing to shoot at him.

He made his way to the second building. It looked like it had once been some sort of gymnasium, but it didn’t look like it had been used in months. Large pieces of equipment stood dusty. Marcus’s footsteps echoed as he quickly made his way through, peering into every hallway and office he found. All empty. No sign of Jake – or anyone else, for that matter.

He jogged to the next building. He ignored the static building in his brain, the creeping dread that whispered to him that every inch of this place he searched and didn’t find Jake was another bit of proof that he’d already been killed. Every minute he spent searching was another minute AMTEC had to torture him – to kill him.

Unless he’s already dead. Unless he’s been dead for weeks.

His bionic hand was perfectly steady as it held Lars’s gun out in front of him. His flesh hand began to tremble as he steadied his grip.

He swiped the ID badge and pulled the door to the next building open. Something scratched at the inside of his mind as he stepped inside, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He realized what it was the second he began to move: this building had no windows.

He stalked down the hall, boots echoing softly on the cement floor. He turned the corner. The lights in the hallway were dim, but a door about halfway down the hall was open, and light spilled out of it. He steadied his breath and softened his walk until it was nearly silent.

There was a huff, from inside the office. “Puera, that you? It’s weird that you walk so quietly, lieutenant. I was just about to call you, though. Brass is six inches up my ass about this fucking Levy Unit. Wants a write-up about why I couldn’t achieve results. I need you to draft a—”

Marcus stepped into the room and pointed his gun in the officer’s face.

The captain – although his wings were a little tarnished – immediately went white.

Marcus’s jaw flexed. “What Levy Unit?” he growled.

The captain shook his head. “I… don’t—”

The gun went off in Marcus’s hands. He hadn’t even meant to pull the trigger; he hadn’t felt that he’d been pulling it, with his new arm.

The bullet punched through the captain’s chest. He toppled off the chair behind his desk, gasping. Marcus didn’t hesitate. He stepped behind the desk and put another bullet between the captain’s eyes. He’d been reaching for his own gun, stashed on a shelf beneath the lip of the desk. Marcus took it and tucked the extra into his waistband.

Out in the hall, he heard a noise: the sound of someone sprinting up the stairs.

He stepped out into the hall. Two people. He checked his reserves.

Six bullets in Lars’s gun. Ten bullets in the captain’s.

Plenty. More than enough.

He quickly walked to meet the sound of the two men running toward him. He kept his gun out and pointed forward, carefully watching to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally discharge again. He met the two men at the top of the stairs.

The first man didn’t even see the bullet that caught him in the throat. He tumbled backward, body splaying in the air as it fell. His skull cracked as he landed at the bottom of the steps. A dark stain began to spread away from his body.

The second man cried out and reached for his thigh, grasping for an imaginary gun in an imaginary holster. Marcus aimed for his leg.

Torture doesn’t work, but he still had some questions.

The man screamed as he went down, clutching the wound in his thigh. Sweat bloomed on his forehead. The muscles of his neck strained. Marcus advanced on him and kicked him onto his back, placing a boot in the center of his chest.

“Levy Unit O2N0W4,” he snarled, not wasting any more breath on preamble. “Where.”

The man screamed through his teeth, writhing under Marcus’s boot. “Wh—” He panted harshly. “What—”

Marcus pointed his gun at the man’s face. His mind was unbearably clear. He could feel his pulse in his fingers; it was slow and steady. “Where is he?” he said, voice flat and dead.

The man whined softly. “The…?” His eyes flicked toward the bottom of the stairs.

It was good enough. Marcus pulled the trigger and kept moving.

He stepped over the body sprawled on the stairs and swept down the hall, turned the corner, rushed down the next one. His heart jolted as he laid eyes on a row of barred cells set into the wall. He dashed to the first one, gun dropping to point at the floor.

Rage and despair gripped him as he looked into the first one. He recognized Jake immediately – and was instantly seized with horror as he saw what had been done to him. Jake lay in a heap on his side, hands cuffed behind him, a black plastic muzzle fitted over his face. Bruises mottled every inch of the skin Marcus could see. Blood stained his shirt – and Marcus’s stomach heaved when he realized what shirt Jake was wearing. His Lev’s R&R uniform. More blood lay in a puddle on the floor beneath the muzzle. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and the other stared at nothing, as blank and empty as death.

The sound that escaped Marcus was inhuman. He fell to his knees outside the cell.

“Jake,” he breathed. “Jake… no…”

Jake had died alone. He had died alone, cuffed and muzzled and in pain.

Just like Marcus said he would.

Now he knew. He knew he was too late, that his weakness and fuck-ups had cost Jake his life. AMTEC would burn for it, or Marcus would die for it. Whatever came first.

He just wanted to do one thing first. Just one thing, and then he would do what needed to be done.

His bionic arm shattered the lock on the cell door like it was a lightbulb. Marcus tucked the gun into his waistband as he stepped into the cell. He lowered himself to his knees beside Jake, shoving down the growing ache in his chest, in his throat. He forced down his tears. Beneath the iron control he had over his breathing, over everything else, everything in him was screaming. He needed—

He needed—

But first, he needed to take the restraints off him. The cuffs broke even more easily than the door had. Jake’s arms fell limply to the floor, and Marcus cringed at how Jake’s left forearm wobbled in the middle.

Broken. He had killed those AMTEC motherfuckers too quickly.

Next, the muzzle. Marcus undid the clasp and slowly, gently eased it off Jake’s face. He saw immediately that the blood pooling on the floor had come from Jake’s lip; it was smeared down the side of his face and had gathered inside the muzzle.

As Marcus pulled the muzzle away, his fingertips brushed Jake’s cheek. Anguish crushed his heart.

Jake was still warm. This had just happened.

“No,” Marcus sobbed, his iron control shattering. Tears brimmed in his eyes. “No, Jake.” He gathered Jake into his arms and held him close to his chest.

Marcus threatened to shatter again, when Jake let out a broken whimper in his arms.

“Jake?” Marcus tilted his head back, cradling his face in his flesh-and-blood hand. Jake’s cheek was warm – too warm, the blood brought to the surface under the bruise. Jake’s eyelid fluttered weakly. He wheezed out a shallow breath.

Slowly, Jake’s one good eye focused on Marcus. Tears began to run down his cheeks, and sobs wracked his body with each breath. Marcus leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Jake’s. He could smell the blood on Jake’s face, soaking into his shirt – could smell his sweat, too, the smell of his fear and pain. He held Jake close and rocked him gently, soaking in the warmth of his body like he was going to die without it.

“M-Marcus,” Jake rasped – and his voice sounded wrecked, like he’d been screaming for hours nonstop and could barely make noise anymore.

“I’m here, Jake,” Marcus breathed. He kissed Jake’s forehead, his cheeks, his nose. “I’m here.”

“Marcus.” Jake’s voice broke as he sobbed into Marcus’s chest. “Marcus, Marcus… I missed you.”

Continued here

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Marcus had been watching the AMTEC admin’s house for a few hours. Unlike most of the people who lived in this town, this guy seemed perfectly content being surveilled; he had cameras on his front door, his back door, and probably inside his house, too. Marcus sneered at that. He wondered what imagined crime this asshole was protecting himself from, what enemy he hallucinated around every corner that demanded he do AMTEC’s job for them and put surveillance equipment around his own fucking home.

Marcus ignored the irony that he was the enemy this asshole so clearly imagined was coming, that he was the monster so many soft-handed idiots like this feared: lying in wait in the dark, passing the time until this asshole got up for work, got in his transport, and drove it to the train station.

Funny, that this guy would never have had to worry about Marcus if he didn’t work for AMTEC. Marcus posed no threat to anyone else on this street.

Lars hadn’t told Marcus much else about him, in the twenty-four hours he’d taken to recover from the surgery and implantation. All Lars knew was that the guy was some sort of office worker, and that he tended to leave early, because Leena sometimes saw him on the train when they went into the city. It was enough for Marcus to start with. It was far more than he had two days ago.

As he waited, he trailed his fingers along the back of his new hand. He felt… something, as if the sensors weren’t sure what they were picking up and were throwing signals about what they thought was happening. It was the most bizarre sensation Marcus had ever experienced.

After six weeks of having almost no use of his right arm, though, he shivered at the pleasure of feeling such undeniable strength fused into him. Before he left, he had experimentally lifted his pack. It had felt like lifting nothing. Then he had lifted Lars. Then he had crushed one of Todd’s disposed metal pieces in his fist, and all he had felt was a sensation of pressure.

He was whole again. He was more than whole.

He carried nothing but Lars’s gun. Anything else threatened to slow him down. He wore the gun in a holster at his belt, which he had also borrowed from Lars. He didn’t tell them that if he found Jake – found him dead – he wouldn’t be returning to give Lars back their holster, or their gun. He figured they had been understanding enough. This additional theft probably wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

A light flicked on in the AMTEC asshole’s house. Marcus stiffened in the bushes he was hiding in.

He waited, with practiced stillness, as more lights switched on and off, following the guy in a path from the top level to the bottom. A light came on in the kitchen, at the front of the house. The guy had cameras around his house, but kept his curtains open. It was fucking weird.

He looked… normal. Just like a normal guy. Maybe mid-thirties, maybe a little older. He made coffee, poured it into a travel cup. He grabbed his keys and shut off the lights. Marcus pulled a mask over his face and silently made his way down the sidewalk to the house.

While he’d been watching, he’d been triangulating the view of the front door camera in his head. And he was fairly fucking sure it didn’t fully cover the entire driveway. If he was right – though, really, what was AMTEC going to do if he was wrong? – the camera wouldn’t pick up the moment this guy got into the front seat of his transport.

Marcus stalked around to the front of the transport and crouched down right as the guy came out of his house. There was a jingling tone as he locked the front door with his fingerprint. He walked to the front of the transport. He reached out to open the door. Marcus stood up, stepped forward, and grabbed the man by the collar of his creased polo shirt.

The man let out a squawk and dropped the coffee mug of hot coffee. Marcus had been prepared to defend himself from having it dashed in his face, but this was better. He began to drag the man down the sidewalk, away from the house and its cameras. He was glad the morning was still dark. Most people would still be asleep.

The man immediately started talking. “T-take my wallet,” he sobbed. “I have credits, I just got paid, you c-can have—” He reached for his pocket.

Marcus seized his wrist and twisted it behind his back. The man cried out as Marcus’s metal arm ground the bones in his grip.

“Shut up,” Marcus growled. “Keep your voice down.”

The man gasped. “Do you want my transport? You…” He threw a glance back at Marcus. Marcus shoved him forward. “Ah. What, what do you want?”

Marcus steered him down a walking path, toward a park he’d slept in countless times in the past few weeks. He had come so close to this guy, and never known it. He marched the guy toward the building with the restrooms and shoved him into the dark doorway. He followed the man in, switching on the light and locking the door behind him.

The man was weeping, falling to his knees and holding his hands up in supplication. There were red marks around his arm where Marcus had grabbed him. “Please, no,” he begged. “Please, don’t hurt me, I’ll… what do you want—”

“Do you have your phone on you?” Marcus snapped. He saw his reflection in the dirty mirrors, half of his face concealed by the mask. His new arm glittered in the fluorescent lights.

The man gulped. “My… phone? Y-yes, if you want my phone you can—”

“Is it your work phone?” Marcus said, annoyance lacing every word.

The man blanched. “Oh. You…”

“Do. You. Have. Your. Work. Phone,” Marcus roared.

The man’s lips trembled. “A-are you going to torture me?” he breathed.

Marcus’s lip curled. “Torture isn’t an efficient way to get information,” he said through his teeth. “I need information, and I need it fucking yesterday. Do you have your goddamn motherfucking work phone on you?”

The man’s hand shook as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Unlock it.”

He did, and held it out to Marcus.

“No, you’re going to find it for me. I don’t know how your fucking filing system works. There was an arrest in River City. A Lev. About six weeks ago, I don’t know the exact date. Find the file. Now.”

The man swallowed hard. “You want to find a Lev—”

“NOW!” Marcus bellowed. The man cringed away from him. Marcus’s right hand twitched toward his gun.

The man tapped the screen, scrolled for a while, tapped some more. He was shaking so hard it took him forever. Finally, he wet his lips and said, “Is this… Arrest Record for Levy Unit O2N0W4—”

“That’s it,” Marcus gasped, snatching the phone. He scrolled through the narrative section, eyes flying over the words extremely resistant and required extensive restraints and other Levy Unit died on scene. He reached the bottom, to the destination information. There was no address given; there was only a set of coordinates.

“He’s been blacksited…?” Marcus breathed.

The man blinked. “I… don’t…”

“Search again,” Marcus snapped, handing the phone back. “Is he dead? Have they killed him yet?”

More tears. “If it’s been s-sent to an alternative sentencing facility, then I won’t have access to—”

Marcus wound up and smashed his hand across the man’s face. He crumpled to the floor, sobbing. He held his bleeding nose and curled into a ball. Marcus bent and picked up the phone, coldly tucking it into his pocket. He reached into the man’s pocket and fished out the keys.

“W-wait, please,” the man begged through a mouthful of blood. “Don’t kill me, please don’t, I… I haven’t done anything.”

“You’re AMTEC,” Marcus said flatly.

“But I help people!” the man wailed. “I’m changing the system from the inside, I swear. It just takes time. Please, you have to believe me. I’m a good person. I… I help people!”

Marcus ground his teeth. “Okay,” he bit out. “How do you help people?”

Another sob. “I… I’m not like the people you’re mad at, I swear. I do Levy recruiting in the prison system. You don’t understand, the prospectives who end up in that system are… I give them a chance! I help them! I give them a job! I give them purpose!”

Without another word, Marcus pulled the gun from his holster, aimed it at the man’s head, and fired. His skull thudded back against the floor in a mess of bone and brain tissue. The gunshot echoed with the last of his screams. Marcus hadn’t felt the pressure on his fingertip as he pulled the trigger; this arm already obeyed him as well as his old one had.

Marcus holstered the gun and turned to go. He left the light on as he went. He jogged back to the man’s transport, started it up, and punched in the coordinates to the blacksite where AMTEC was holding Jake.

I’m coming, Jake, he allowed himself to think. I’m coming.

Deeper down, where the pain threatened to crush him if he looked at it for too long, he thought: I’m coming for the rest of you, if he’s dead.

Continued here

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They came for Jake again the next day. They took him from his cell and marched him across the hall, strung him up from the ceiling, and tugged his shirt up over his head. They made him face the camera, tears slipping down his face and behind the muzzle as they taunted him for having two entire days off – “fucking pussy had a long break and still cries like a bitch, I don’t think it’ll last the full time no matter what we do.” Then they had taken the whip to him again, on his chest and stomach this time. He screamed through the muzzle as the leather tore the delicate skin and sent blood trickling down the front of his pants. Then they had let him down and dragged him back to his cell.

They didn’t wait before they sanitized the wounds, like they had last time. They went straight in with the alcohol and dripped it over him until he whited out from the pain. When they left, his clothes were soaked with sweat. He shivered on the floor, too weak to move.

He shattered, then. He broke like he never had before. He pressed his hands against his mouth and wailed into the cramped, echoey space of his cell, until his voice was gone. Tears glazed his face and dripped onto the floor. Every bruise, every stripe, every aching bone in his body rebelled against the pain and terror at once. He felt flayed alive. And he wasn’t even being hurt. He was being left alone.

He was alone.

He sobbed until he gagged. He was alone.

Marcus was out there, somewhere – in pieces, rotting, bloody and broken, probably already disposed of. Jake trembled as the images flashed behind his eyes again and again: the spray of blood, Marcus’s limp body flying onto the tracks, the officers dragging Jake away before he could get his one last look at all that remained of Marcus. A smear of blood, that’s all they said was left. And Jake didn’t even get to see that. He didn’t get to say goodbye.

“Run.”

That was Marcus’s last word to him. His last word alive. And it had been to Jake, to protect him.

Jake squeezed his hand into a fist, as if that could pull Marcus back from that platform edge – as if that could save him. But Marcus was dead, and Jake was alone.

“P-please,” he whispered. “Please, please, Marcus.”

Please. Marcus.

He didn’t want anything from Marcus. Didn’t need anything from him.

He just wanted… him. He wanted Marcus. He wanted his freedom, wanted relief, wanted a dozen locked doors between him and the men who wanted to hurt him, but most of all, he wanted his Marcus.

He would never have any of those things again. There was only this. Only his pain, until he was finally allowed to die.

He curled up on his side. The pain made it hard to think. He knew he should probably be quiet, that the sound of his crying would probably bring the guards sooner or later. He couldn’t stop himself from sobbing. The ache in his body warred with the sickness he felt in his heart.

Marcus, Marcus, Marcus.

Every beat of his heart sounded like that name. Every thought carried that name. He was alone, and Marcus was dead, and these next few months of torture stood between them now.

He didn’t want to die. But if there was nothing but pain left for him…

His throat felt so raw. We should have gotten on that train. That train going north. It was so stupid of him to have tried to avoid getting on a train – the train that would have been their salvation – just because it was going toward his hometown. They could have gotten off before they got there, couldn’t they? They could have ridden past it. They could have jumped from the train, if it came down to it.

And if everything had gone wrong, and Jake had been stuck on that train until it carried him home, if for some awful reason Jake had been dragged right back to the front door of his childhood house… Marcus would have protected him. Marcus would never have let John lay another finger on him. Marcus would have killed John as soon as look at him. It didn’t have to be bad. It didn’t have to be bad. But because of his stupid fear, because he didn’t trust Marcus – because he didn’t trust himself – to keep him safe, he’d hesitated. He hadn’t gotten on that train. That must have been it, mustn’t it? He hadn’t gotten on that train because he hadn’t trusted Marcus.

And now Marcus was dead, because Jake was afraid of a man he hadn’t seen in nearly ten years. It was his fault. It was all his fault. He had gotten Marcus killed, and soon, he would be dead, too.

He wondered if his mother would want to know when they finally killed him. He hadn’t thought of her in years, far longer than he’d been able to stave off thinking about John. He hadn’t seen her since he’d run away. She hadn’t been at his arraignment, conviction, or sentencing. He hadn’t wanted her there anyway, so that had been a relief, but there had been a twinge of… something. That old resentment. And below that, the old grief.

Please love me, that grief said. Please help me. Please protect me.

But if she never lifted a finger to protect him at twelve, she certainly wasn’t going to do it at twenty-four.

He could hear her voice in his head now: “If you wouldn’t antagonize him…”

His flesh shuddered as he remembered Brady’s and Surles’s fists, the shocks, the cutting pain of the whip, the cold water, the terror of the rope around his neck. The blank horror of the rapes.

He bore only one bruise he was proud of: the one on his cheek, from where Brady had backhanded him after Jake spat in his face.

He heard Marcus’s voice, too, so much clearer than his mother’s: “Why the fuck would you antagonize him over me? Keep your head down and stay alive.”

Jake whimpered softly. It doesn’t matter if I antagonize them or not, he responded to that voice in his head, desperately wishing that Marcus could somehow hear him. They hurt me no matter what. If I was staying alive for something… if I was staying alive for you…

“I know.” More tears brimmed in Jake’s eyes and spilled over. He clung to Marcus’s imagined voice like he would die without it. “I know, kid. I’m sorry.”

They’re going to kill me someday, Jake thought hopelessly. No matter what I do… they’re going to hurt me, and then they’re going to kill me.

No one answered him; but then, he knew no one would. He was talking to no one but himself. The best he had to hope for was that a ghost would answer him. All that happened instead was that his sobs continued to echo back at him in the near-silence of his cell, until he finally mustered the strength to crawl back onto his cot and sleep.

Continued here

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Tobias was about an hour past a bad headache; he’d never had a migraine before, but he had a feeling it felt a little something like this. He stared at the neat writing on the page in front of him, eyes going slightly crossed as he stared at the letters, numbers, and symbols.

“Remind me again,” he croaked. Maybe I should have some water, too. “Lip gloss is…?”

Lars’s arms were crossed in front of their chest, and they glowered at him from their seat at the desk. He tried not to look at that: their arms, and how their muscles seemed strong and lean under their golden tan skin. He tried not to look at the shape of their fingers as they gripped their own arms. He didn’t look at the gold jewelry that winked from their nose and ears, drawing his eye. And he definitely kept his eyes away from their face: their plush lips, their pert nose, their dark eyes lined by darker lashes. He didn’t look at any of that. He’d done a pretty good job of not staring at them for the past few weeks, he thought, even though they inhabited most of his waking thoughts, and a lot of his sleeping ones, too.

“Estradiol,” they said flatly.

“Right.” Tobias massaged his forehead. “The lip gloss tubes and stuff mean the syringes and pill bottles for the stuff, and… and the candy—”

“That’s the T.”

“The testosterone?”

“Yeah.”

Tobias rubbed his forehead. “Right. Sorry.” He didn’t want to look at Lars – their irritated expression was enough of a reminder that they probably didn’t like him much – but he didn’t want to look at the page anymore, either. The writing was neat, but the notes had been written as if on different days, as if the page was made up of a bunch of different post-it notes taped together. “How…?” He forced his eyes open and stared at the page again. He’d learned about operations like this in his classes – in his classes about fraud, how to spot it and how to avoid being spotted and how to do ‘creative documentation’ to avoid ever getting the attention of the types of people who spot such things. Usually the types of business who did this were—

Well. He was all too familiar with the types of business that operated like this. He never imagined he’d be part of one. He never imagined he’d he helping – or that the type of people who did things like this were… well. Like Lars.

He had no idea how they kept everything straight in their head. According to the notes he’d been able to go through so far, they only wrote down about… ten percent of everything they did here, and it was only the absolutely critical stuff that would be hard to keep track of, like numbers of shipments. They kept the addresses and names and types of products all in their head. It was dizzying.

It was so, so impressive. He’d never met anyone like that before. He definitely tried not to think about that, too – how impressive they were.

And he tried not to think about how, the first time he’d ever met them, he’d been sobbing on his knees, and they’d cradled his shoulders in those strong, shapely hands and helped him sit up. They’d laughed with that husky voice of theirs and pulled him to his feet, grinning at his sorry attempts to make his mark on the world – by painting stupid shit on their building.

“How what?” Lars said, their voice currently thin as a string.

Tobias shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about Lars right now. He should be thinking about the clinic – and how in the hell Lars was keeping it afloat. “Sorry, I guess… how have you managed to stay in business for this long? Without… I mean…?” He pressed his thumbs into his eyes.

Lars heaved a massive sigh. “Because, dude, drop shipping is, like… the least regulated shit in the country. Nobody looks into that shit because if they did, they’d have to crack down on the social media advertising, which is all social media is even good for anymore, and those fuckin’ billionaires wouldn’t stand for it. So I sell my lip gloss and candy and plushies; don’t forget those either, rich boy, while you’re sticking up your nose at how we do business here.”

Tobias’s jaw clenched. “I’m not rich,” he grumbled to himself for what felt like the millionth fucking time in the past few weeks. He squinted to focus on the rows of numbers and words again.

Lars huffed. “Okay then, rich boy, what’s your story? How come you’re no longer rich? How come you only know half the shit that might make you halfway decent at running this place? Fuckin’ business major. Don’t tell me mommy and daddy ran out of money for your prestigious education.”

“No,” Tobias ground out. He gripped the pen tightly and stared at the paper in front of him. “I got kicked out.”

He tried very, very hard not to notice the flicker of interest that sparked in Lars’s eyes as they leaned forward. “Oh?” they said softly. “What, you fuck the provost’s daughter, or—”

Tobias slapped his hand on the table. Lars’s mouth shut with a click.

“I… I didn’t like my university’s collaboration with AMTEC, okay?” he snarled. Righteous indignation rattled in his chest.

Lars just stared at him. They didn’t move.

Tobias shoved his face into his hands. “It’s nothing. I just… I found out about how AMTEC works with the colleges within the university, okay? They mostly fund the engineering college and recruit graduates straight from there – MechEs for their weapons, ChemEs for the pharmaceutical branch, CivEs to make the bases and stuff – but they fund the law and business schools, too. They sponsor this huge yearly pitch contest at my college and – never mind. It doesn’t matter.

“I… I didn’t like what I was learning in my classes. About how AMTEC controls and regulates… everything. And no one can stop them. So I went to my university and asked them to divest. And they said no.” A bitter chuckle forced its way out of him. He looked at Lars. “No, they said fuck no. So I tried to arrange a protest, and… like, five people showed up. And I was expelled for being the ringleader. They said they needed to make an example of me, okay?”

Lars hadn’t moved. Their eyes were locked on his.

“So I moved back home. And when I told my parents what happened – they’re both kinda high up on the pharma side, my mom’s a physician representative and my dad’s a regional manager – they laughed and said, ‘well, if you don’t like how we make our money, then you won’t mind losing access to it.’ They threw me out. Gave me a night to pack what I could, and I had to pay them for what I took. So, yeah, fucking excuse me, but no, I’m not rich. Not anymore. So if you could just… fucking… lay off, that would be spectacular.” He sat back in his chair, cheeks flushed from his outburst.

Lars’s expression was unreadable.

Tobias blew out a breath through his nose. “Look, I’m sor—”

Lars lunged forward and shoved their mouth against his.

Tobias let out a groan of surprise and want. He grabbed their face, fingers sliding through their short-cropped hair. It was so soft.

“Wanna fuck you,” Lars rasped against his lips.

“What, here?” The words were strangled.

Lars nodded. “Yeah.” Their hands hovered around the hem of his shirt as they leaned over him, but their mouth was hard, insistent.

Tobias nodded. “Y-yeah. Yeah.”

Lars broke the kiss and strode to the door, pushing it shut with a thud. They clicked the lock. Then they were back in Tobias’s face, the kiss more teeth than anything else, hands fisted in his shirt as they dragged him out of his chair and backed him up against the desk. Tobias panted against Lars’s open mouth as they leaned over him and pushed him down onto the pile of papers they’d just been poring over.

“I wanna be on top,” Lars said, fingers already busy at Tobias’s belt. He groaned and did his best to help them loosen it. All he wound up doing was getting in the way.

His mind was racing, but one thought managed surface long enough for him to stammer out: “I d-don’t have a condom.”

Lars snorted. “What kind of clinic would I be if I didn’t have condoms?” They pulled a desk drawer open and yanked out a box, snatching one out and tossing it onto the desk beside Tobias’s hip. They went right back to undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants.

Tobias panted. “I th-thought you… didn’t like me.”

Lars eased a hand into Tobias’s pants and palmed him over his underwear with a laugh. He gasped and bucked into the touch. “I don’t like business majors,” they said, their warm palm rubbing infuriating friction along his erection. “But you’re not a business major anymore, huh?”

“No.” Tobias’s headache was gone. His eyes rolled back, and he gripped the edge of the desk. “F-fuck, please.”

“Mmm, fuck,” Lars groaned. They straightened, and worked their pants and underwear off. Tobias couldn’t help but stare at the thatch of hair between their legs. Even in the dim light of the office, it was already glistening and wet. He swallowed hard, pulling his cock free of his underwear and tearing open the condom. His hands shook as he rolled it on under Lars’s piercing gaze.

Lars didn’t waste a single second. The moment the condom was on, they climbed up onto the desk with him, straddling his hips and positioning themself over him. He stroked their bare thighs as they grasped his cock and rolled their slickness against the tip. His eyes rolled back.

“This okay?” Lars murmured, poised over him.

He nodded so hard his teeth rattled. “Y-yeah, yeah, please.”

Lars grinned, and slid down smoothly onto him, taking him in. He gasped and whimpered softly.

They bent over him at once, lips and teeth raking his jaw, his throat, the skin above his collarbones. They yanked the collar of his shirt down so they could suck a spot red on his chest. He squirmed beneath them, hands gripping their hips, not even trying to guide them as they rode him. They rolled their hips expertly, sliding up and down his length, sinking into his lap, taking him to the hilt. He didn’t even realize he was making noise until their warm hand slid over his mouth.

“Shh, rich boy, I’m at work,” they whispered against his throat. He just moaned harder. He felt their body pressed against the length of his and felt alive in every nerve ending. His hands traced up and down their legs, sliding under their shirt, up their back, across the front of their chest. He drew his fingers along the two crescent-shaped scars that followed the line of their pecs. His fingertips ghosted across one nipple on the left. There was only a scar on the right.

“Yeah, had a shit surgeon for the top surgery,” Lars said with a chuckle. “Lost a nip, now I only have one. So that’s a fun fact to bring up at parties.”

Tobias couldn’t have responded, even if his mouth was free. He didn’t have a single coherent thought in his head. All he could think about was Lars’s firm body against his, their cunt around his cock, their low, husky voice in his ear. He whimpered as they rode him, edging closer and closer to release. Everything was almost too much. He was going to… He was going to…

Lars’s hand slipped from Tobias’s mouth. “That shit with your university?” they said, pressing a kiss deep into his mouth. “Hottest shit I’ve ever heard. Fuck, Tobias. I… unh…”

He returned the kiss, sucking on their tongue. His fingers tightened in their hair.

“I wish I had my strap with me,” they sighed. “I’d fuck the daylights out of you. If you… if you’d like that.”

The image of the two of them laid out the way they were – Tobias on his back on the desk, Lars over them – but with Tobias’s legs spread, filled with Lars’s cock, their lips on his throat and their praise in his ear, swept through him like a thunderbolt. He gasped softly and arched, spilling into the condom, a flush blooming on his light brown chest beneath the bite marks. Lars’s riding slowed, then stopped. Tobias slumped back to the desk, catching his breath.

“Yeah,” Lars said, sounding smugger than he’d ever heard them. “I thought you might like that.”

He blinked against the spinning of the room around him. “W-wait… did you…?”

“Come?” Lars shifted their weight and threw their leg off him. He groaned as his softening cock slipped out of them. They glanced to the side, suddenly shy. “No. But it’s fine. I’ll finish myself off in the bathroom or something. Or later tonight. It’s whatev—”

He grabbed their hand. “No?” They looked at him, seeming almost startled.

He slowly got to his feet, feeling shaky and unsteady. Once the condom was off, he guided them to lean against the desk where he’d just been laying. Then, clumsily, he slid to his knees in front of them and dipped his head between their legs.

They gasped in surprise, but didn’t stop him. He brushed the hair away from their clit and found it swollen and peeking out at him. Gently, he pressed his lips against it. Even more gently, he drew his tongue along it, and savored the noise that seemed pulled from Lars’s core. They spread their legs further for him and placed one hand on his curls. With the other, they braced themself back against the desk.

He traced his fingers along their folds, which were practically dripping. They shivered with each touch. He eased two fingers inside them, running them along until he found the spot he was looking for, and began to rub in tandem with his sucking and licking.

Lars gave a full body shudder. Their fingers tightened roughly in Tobias’s curls. He kept going. He could feel them tightening around his fingers already; they’d already been so close. He kept up the pace, steady and smooth, stroking and licking, sucking the firm little pearl into his mouth and massaging with his tongue. Lars’s breathing was ragged and harsh. It only took a minute or so before they were practically weeping.

“Tobias,” they begged. “Don’t stop, please, just keep doing that… oh, fuck, baby, please…”

Baby. He’d never heard them like this. Never remotely like this. He flushed, but never changed course. He licked and sucked and stroked, feeling their thighs quiver on either side of his head, feeling their fingers twist in his curls and pull.

Lars’s orgasm wasn’t sudden, like Tobias’s had been. It rolled over their body like a wave, sighing out of them like relief, like the last lingering note of a song. Their walls quivered around his fingers, and their legs shook as they slumped back against the desk. Their fingers slipped out of his hair. He pressed a kiss to their inner thigh, but didn’t rise from his spot on the floor. It felt nice there, between their legs, with them lying splayed above him. He listened to their ragged breathing even out once more.

Then, they laughed that husky, intoxicating laugh of theirs, and he felt it like a warm drink in his stomach.

“Fuck, Tobias,” Lars breathed. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

He chuckled. “I can’t believe you wanted to do that.”

“What?” they said. “We’re adults. The door was closed.”

“No, I mean… with me.” He kissed their thigh again, for good measure. As if he had a limited number of kisses they would allow, and he should get in as many as he could.

They lifted their head to look at him. “…why not with you?”

He pursed his lips. “You already said. You don’t like business majors.”

They laughed again. Fuck, maybe they were going to be the death of him, too. “Yeah, I don’t like business majors. But ex-business majors who stand up to AMTEC even when it costs… well, everything? Yeah, that’s incredibly hot.” They smiled sheepishly. “Especially when said ex-business majors are incredibly, unfairly pretty.”

He blushed and pressed his face into their thigh. “Oh my god.”

“Alright, you, enough of that, unless you’re gonna fuck me again,” they said with a huff. They pushed themself to their feet and reached for their pants and underwear. “We do have other stuff to get done, you know. But… I could ask, if you want…” They gave a one-shoulder shrug. “If you didn’t want to stay on Raye’s couch tonight, I do have a queen bed. If you wanted. I don’t know. If you wanted a change of scenery.”

Tobias’s throat tightened. “Oh. Um… yeah, I… that would be nice. I’d love to stay over.”

“Good,” Lars said, sitting in their seat and eyeing Tobias as he finally pulled his pants back up. “Because I have more condoms at home, too.”

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Jake trembled as he climbed out of his cot and lowered himself to his knees in the center of his cell. It already felt so normal – so goddamn normal to do it. He ached from the beatings, both from yesterday and from Alex days and days ago. The whip marks on his back had scabbed over. They broke open all over again with the movement. This was what his life was, though, until they ended it, and this was probably the least amount of pain he would ever be in again.

Marcus was dead. He wouldn’t be allowed to join him for so, so long.

He stared at the floor as he crossed his wrists behind his back. No tears swam in his eyes now; he’d spent all night crying. He knew more tears were coming, but for now he was spent. Brady didn’t step behind him and cuff him, though. Instead, he tossed a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste onto the floor and nodded at the sink against the wall.

“Brush up, Levy,” he said. “No one wants to deal with your breath for the rest of your time here.”

Jake didn’t bother getting up off his knees. He crawled over and picked up what Brady had dropped. Then he crawled over to the sink, brushed his teeth, and set the stuff on the edge of the sink.

“Good,” he said. “That’s good, you getting used to being on your knees. That certainly makes my job a lot easier.”

Jake ground his teeth together and crossed his wrists behind his back once more. Brady cuffed them there, then fitted the muzzle over his face. He didn’t let Jake get to his feet; he dragged him up by his hair instead.

Brady laughed as he shoved him down the hall, back to the room he’d been whipped in. Jake wondered, dimly, why they didn’t just torture him in his cell. It would certainly be more efficient.

The door swung open, and he was reminded – there was a camera set up in this room to capture it all. He swallowed hard.

His eyes darted around the room. Both Surles and Puera were there. The post remained, but the whip was gone. Instead, there was a hose coiled up in the corner, with a large bucket sitting beside it. Jake shivered in anticipation of the water.

Puera hit the record button on the camera, then turned to Jake. He nodded at Brady.

“Gonna take these cuffs off you now,” Brady murmured against Jake’s ear. “You gonna behave for us? Or are you gonna start your day with a shock?” The muzzle straps loosened, and he removed the muzzle.

“I’ll behave,” Jake croaked. He felt the cuffs come away. He wondered why they had removed the muzzle, too. He knew he would find out soon enough.

Once the cuffs were off, Puera crossed his arms over his chest. “Strip,” he said flatly.

Jake’s hands began to shake. “Y-you… want me to be naked?” he whispered.

Brady’s hand seized his hair and forced him to his knees. “Alright, we’ll do it,” he said tightly.

“No,” Jake rasped. “No. No, no. I can…” He pulled his shirt off, then awkwardly got to his feet once more so he could take his boots, socks, pants, and underwear off as well. He was still wearing the… Marcus’s underwear. They had washed it while bunkering down at the apartment, just going without while it dried, but… they hadn’t switched back.

There were the tears. They burned in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks.

“Little pussy can’t stand to be naked?” Surles mocked. “Aw.”

Jake’s lip curled as he was cuffed once more. He felt horribly exposed in front of the men – but the camera made it so much worse. Brady forced him to his knees again. He felt himself trembling.

Surles wandered over to the hose and began filling the bucket. Jake’s muscles tightened, and his hands made fists in the cuffs.

“Identify yourself,” Puera said.

“Levy Unit O2N0W4,” Jake whispered.

Brady slapped him across the mouth. He gasped.

“Louder,” Brady said. “So the mic can pick it up.”

Jake’s lips trembled. He tasted blood on the inside of his cheek. “L-levy Unit O2N0W4,” he said, a little louder.

Puera nodded. “Why are you here, Levy Unit O2N0W4?” he said, adjusting the camera.

Jake swallowed. “Are… you asking for a confession?”

Another slap. He cringed away from Brady. His cheek throbbed.

“We’re making sure you know why the fuck this is about to happen to you,” he sneered. “We already know what you did. The question is whether you know. Or care.” He shrugged. “But you’re a Lev. Maybe we’re asking for too much.”

Behind Jake, water sloshed in the bucket. He whimpered softly and shook his head.

I’m here because I begged for Marcus’s life. I’m here because Marcus set me free, because he couldn’t stand to see me dead. I’m here because I killed the tac officers who’d been sent to slaughter us both. I’m here because we ran from the place that tried to make us Levs and failed.

I won’t apologize for any of that. I won’t apologize to the people who killed Marcus and will someday kill me, too.

He set his jaw. “Just do what you’re going to do,” he breathed.

Surles’s boots clicked on the floor as he drew closer. “Works for me,” he said with a laugh. He tossed water directly into Jake’s face.

The icy water froze Jake’s breath in his chest. A shocked cry forced its way out of his throat, and he began shaking violently a moment later. He struggled to catch his breath. “F-fuck,” he gasped. Surles began filling the bucket again.

“Let’s try this again,” Puera said. “Why are you here, Levy Unit?”

Jake shook his head, shivering so hard his muscles ached.

Brady rolled his eyes. “So you didn’t do anything? We picked up a totally innocent guy? Case of mistaken identity?” He snorted. “You wouldn’t believe how often that happens, Levy. Can’t believe we’ve done it again.”

Jake’s teeth chattered. “F-fuck you,” he breathed.

Another slap rocked his head to the side. “Careful, Levy,” he murmured, leaning in close. “I can grant that wish, if you keep mouthing off.”

Jake shuddered and did his best to pull away.

“Levy Unit,” Puera said. “Why are you here? You’ve already been charged and condemned. This isn’t a confession. This is just for…” He patted the camera.

It was hard to breathe, with his muscles so clenched. “For the other Levs?” he breathed. “If they ever step out of line? To watch and see what’ll happen to them?”

Puera tilted his head. “If it’s ever declassified, yes,” he said evenly. “That’s still under review. I’m not sure if the board will want to—” He cut himself off, as if remembering that he, too, was on camera.

Jake nodded. “The brass aren’t sure if they want other Levs knowing that escape is even possible,” he rasped.

A muscle stood out in Puera’s jaw. “It’s under review,” he repeated.

Surles drew near with the bucket again. Jake braced. The icy water was dashed into his face. This time, his chest was too spasmed for him to even cry out.

Once he caught his breath again, he forced himself to stare into the camera. “Alright,” he said, shaking hard. “Fine.”

Marcus might fight. Marcus might die fighting.

Jake could at least make their footage fucking unusable.

“I was sentenced to consignment when I tried to save my FTO,” he rasped. “I made a mistake that got us captured, and I tried to save his life. That was deemed—” His lip curled. “—dereliction of duty. Mar— My FTO didn’t want me to get consigned. So he killed our commanding officer and escaped with me. He cut out our chips. You can do that, too, if you want. It’s not hard. You just need a knife. Just cut right above where you feel the—”

Brady kicked him to the floor. Jake landed hard in a puddle of cold water. He kept going.

“We survived for weeks in the city. I won’t tell you how, because they might start making the places we stayed unsafe. But you can do it, too. We almost made it out, almost made it to a train, but they—”

Another kick, to his unprotected stomach. He gagged and curled into the smallest ball he could muster. Water was rushing into the bucket again.

“Th-they killed him,” he sobbed. “Th-they killed him. And they’re going to kill me. But you can make it out, if you try. You don’t have to wait for them to consign you.”

Another kick, this one to his back. He wailed softly as he felt his ribs creak under the blow. Surles approached with the bucket. He didn’t have time to brace before it was poured over him once more.

Brady crouched and grabbed his soaked hair, twisting it hard. Jake whined softly.

“Yeah,” Brady growled. “We did kill it, didn’t we? Shot it to oblivion and dumped its ass under a train. They’d be piecing its shit together for months – if Levs even got autopsies. They’ll just dump what’s left of it in the city compost.”

Jake sobbed. His tears mingled with the water on his face. He could feel the cuffs digging into his wrists.

“Just like we’ll do with you,” Brady whispered, too low for the mic to pick up. “Once we’re done with you… but by that point, there won’t be much left.” He shoved Jake’s head against the floor and stood.

Jake shuddered. “How will you do it?” he murmured, before he could stop himself. He’d spent so long thinking about his own death, picturing the cold, sterile room, the IVs, the medications. “Is it like… the way they do it on the base?”

Would they film it?

Brady snorted. “No. Those chemicals are expensive, Levy. It’s not worth it to use them on you there. You really think you’re worth that expenditure once you make it to us?”

Jake swallowed. He could hear that the bucket was almost full again. “Then… how?”

Brady glanced at Puera. “…I think we’ve gotten enough for today, don’t you?”

Puera glanced at Surles. “Once we’re done with this one,” he said.

Surles began walking toward him again. Jake groaned. The cold water crashed over him again. Puera hit the button, and the camera stopped recording.

Brady crouched once more, grabbed Jake’s hair, and dragged him so close he could feel his warm breath. “That’s entirely up to us, Levy,” he whispered. “We’ve done it all kinds of ways. Firing squad, hanging, just straight-up beating your ass to death…” He smiled. “All that matters is that the death is documented properly. Doesn’t much matter how it happens. For you, though…” He tilted Jake’s head back and smiled wider when Jake’s breath hitched. “I think we’ll figure out something special for you.”

Jake whimpered.

Brady patted his cheek and let him drop to the floor. “What’s the plan, Puera? Leave it here for a bit?”

Jake bit down on his gasp. He was already so cold. His fingers were going numb, and his skin ached. He… he couldn’t—

Puera gave a sharp nod. “For a few hours, yes.”

Brady and Surles dragged Jake over to the post. Jake hissed as the skin on his hip rubbed raw against the concrete floor. They pulled his wrists up, up, forcing his arms out straight behind him, then took another pair of cuffs and secured his cuffs to the post. He let out a strangled cry as his shoulders protested. He kicked against the floor.

Surles tilted his head. “Hm… one more, I think.”

Jake didn’t know what he meant… until Surles wandered over to the bucket. He let out a moan of despair. Surles filled the bucket and dumped it over him. Jake let out a scream.

They left him there. He shivered and finally allowed himself to sob. He didn’t fight the cuffs; he was too cold. He found himself growing sleepy. When they finally came for him, he could barely keep his eyes open.

His skin felt cold as ice, but at least it was dry. He needed their help to get his clothes back on. They didn’t let him put on his socks or boots. “You won’t need them again,” Brady said with a grin. They cuffed him, walked him back to his cell, and pushed him inside. There were meal drinks there when he arrived. He forced himself to drink one before he crawled into his cot. He needed to keep his strength up, after all.

Continued here

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He didn’t recognize this room. But he wasn’t in cuffs, so that was a good start. No muzzle, either. That meant he probably wouldn’t have to escape AMTEC before he went to rescue Jake.

Jake. They were torturing Jake.

“Wh-where the hell am I?” he breathed.

The stranger huffed. “Good morning to you, too.”

Marcus shook his head and did his best to scoot himself away, despite the pain, as he did, the blanket covering him slipped.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

He remembered… something about a shirt. Someone cutting it off of him so they could see the wound in his shoulder.

Someone. This person. This person sitting right in front of him. They had cut if off of him. They had stopped his bleeding and bound his wound, too. They had started an IV and—

He glanced up. An empty fluids bag hung from a thumb tack pressed into the wall. The tubing was still attached to his IV. He brought his gaze back to the stranger sitting in front of him.

Lars. That was their name.

“Who are you?” he croaked.

“I’m Lars,” they said with a sigh.

“I know that part. I mean… who are you.” Quickly, Marcus glanced around the room. There was a poster hanging on the wall for a movie he didn’t recognize. Photos littered another wall. He recognized the redhead from some of them. It seemed like an incredible mess. And yet, Marcus couldn’t tear his eyes off the photos.

His walls back on the base were entirely bare. He wasn’t even allowed a mirror in his room.

More importantly, though, he didn’t see any weapons anywhere. Not that Lars couldn’t have any hidden, but at least that told him they weren’t the type to send a message by having them out.

They’re torturing Jake. Every second I spend sitting on my ass, they’re torturing Jake.

Lars heaved another sigh. They did that a lot, Marcus noted. “I’m… well, I guess the most relevant thing to you is: I’m a med tech. Or at least, that’s my day job. By night I run a free HRT clinic.”

Marcus blinked. “What do you mean, you run a free HRT clinic?”

Lars smirked. “I mean, I steal HRT.”

One more glance around the room. “And… why are you telling me this?” He couldn’t help Jake now. He had to wait until he was at least well enough to carry Jake.

“Because.” Lars shrugged. “I guess to let you know that I uh… am very comfortable with doing very illegal shit, I guess. Like helping out someone who very clearly doesn’t want to be found.”

Marcus stiffened, met their eyes once more. “I’m not going to tell you who I am,” he murmured. “I… I can’t.” It took everything in him not to cover the tiny cut on his neck with his hand. If Lars knew what to look for, it would be devastatingly obvious who and what Marcus was. And hiding him – knowingly – would carry a far higher penalty than stealing some controlled substances.

Although… he figured AMTEC wouldn’t make a distinction between those who helped him knowingly, and those who happened to get in their way. They would be looking for him, and they would probably start in this town – wherever they were.

“You didn’t answer me before,” he said. “Where am I?”

“My spare room,” Lars said. “Sorry it’s a little barren. Used to be my roommate’s, but she’s in the middle of moving in with Leena. They’re together. Kinda sickening, actually. I never thought it would happen, but—”

“The less you tell me about you, the better,” Marcus said. He pushed himself upright, and gagged weakly as agony shot through him. “I appreciate you patching me up. I really do. I would have died without it. But I just need to know, specifically, what town am I in, so I know where I’m starting from when I take off.”

“Come on, no,” Lars said. They reached out to push Marcus back down to the bed.

“Don’t,” he snarled. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Alright.” They held their hands up. “Jesus. Fine. Look, I’m sorry. I won’t say anything else. Just… give it another day or two. Just to make sure the clots hold, okay? Then, if you’re still feeling okay… you can take off, find whoever this Jake person is.”

Marcus’s gaze drilled through them. “How do you know about Jake?” he breathed.

They’re hurting Jake. They’re torturing Jake, and I can’t do a fucking thing about it.

“Because, you’re fucking talkative when you’re in shock, dude,” Lars said with a roll of their eyes. “Look… I don’t know who Jake is or what they’ve gotten into. But I do know that you’re not in any condition to help them, alright? I’m fine with helping you. I’ve got this second room. I can afford some extra groceries this month, and if things get tight… what the hell. I’ll just ask people to donate what they can at the clinic, if they can afford it. Please let me help you. Please.”

Marcus swallowed hard. “I need to move on as soon as I can stand.”

“Come on, man,” Lars said. “Please? I’m dying for a chance to say fuck you to AMTEC. More than I usually do, at least.”

Marcus’s stomach went ice cold. His one good hand curled into a fist. “What… do you mean, fuck you to AMTEC?” he breathed. He glanced at the IV in his arm. There was nothing flowing into it – but what had he already been given?

Was this even a room in a house at all? Was this all an elaborate fucking set-up?

Lars sat back in their chair and gave Marcus a long, hard look. The tilted their head. “Sure, I can spell out my thin-slicing for you,” they said. “Your haircut is ridiculously military, and I’ve never seen anyone choose something like that that wasn’t forced on them. So, AMTEC. Your clothes don’t fit, though, which makes me think you’re on the run from them. You were shot, which can happen anytime, I guess, but it was with something that shoots a large caliber bullet. I know anyone can own those, but obviously only AMTEC gives everyone something that can shoot high-caliber.”

Marcus sat up and glanced around the room again. There was a hammer sitting on a mostly-empty bookshelf. He could use that.

“Then of course, there’s your neck.”

Marcus measured the distance between himself, Lars, and the hammer. Lars was between him and it. He was almost certainly stronger, but injured as he was, they might overpower him. He had surprise on his side, though.

“A nick like that could have been caused by shaving. But I hear the rumors. I hear about the chips they use to control them – you. And then there’s your back.”

Marcus couldn’t hold back his gasp. “You—”

“I wasn’t looking for anything,” Lars said. “I just saw when I rolled you. But… you’ve been whipped, haven’t you? Multiple times? And they don’t do that to officers. Like I said, I only hear rumors, but…” They lifted their chin. “They do that do Levs.”

Marcus leapt off the bed, tearing the IV from his arm. Lars cried out and covered their head with their arms. Marcus tried to snatch the hammer up from the shelf, but he stumbled, weak from blood loss and the medication still swimming in his blood. He slumped against the wall beside the shelf and grabbed the hammer as he went down. Lars fell out of their chair and backed up against the wall, as far from Marcus as they could get.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” they gasped. “Okay, fuck, yeah, that was a stupid idea on my part. But I’m right, aren’t I? You’re a Lev?”

“F-fuck,” Marcus breathed. His legs shook beneath him. “Fuck.”

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” Lars said. “Like I said, fuck AMTEC. Fuck AMTEC. I wouldn’t care if you were an officer. If you were running from them, I’d help you, no matter what.”

“H-how did you know all that?” Marcus rasped.

“I’m a med tech, dude,” Lars said, looking a little offended. “It’s my job to figure out what’s going on with people with very little information.”

Marcus staggered and fell to one knee. He kept his grip on the hammer. His arm was bleeding onto the carpet.

“Okay, okay.” Lars got up and crossed the room to help him.

“No,” Marcus ground out, flinching away. “Don’t… don’t touch me. Don’t ever fucking touch me. Please.”

“Then get your bleeding arm over a puppy pad, dumbass,” Lars snapped. “You don’t have credits to pay to have my carpet cleaned.”

Marcus trembled violently as he half-crawled over to the bed and held his arm over the pad. He didn’t have the strength in his left arm to press his hand over the torn flesh.

“Now, can I bandage that for you?” Lars groused.

Reluctantly, Marcus nodded. He kept holding the hammer.

“Great.” Lars grabbed some gauze and tape. They carefully bandaged his arm, glancing at the hammer every now and then. “I’ll have to start a new IV.”

“No,” he said. “I’ll just… drink fluids. I don’t need a new one.”

“And for the pain?”

He gritted his teeth. “I’ll fucking handle it.”

JAKE IS BEING TORTURED.

Lars rolled their eyes. “Medical literature indicates injuries heal faster if pain is carefully controlled. It improves cortisol levels and all kinds of other shit. Do you want to help your friend, or not?”

Marcus met their gaze. He’d never been particularly good at telling when people were lying to him – but then, no one ever was. He swallowed tightly and let out a breath. “Fine,” he said softly. “If that’ll help.”

Lars got to their feet with a nod. “Good,” they said. “Now, I’m hungry. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for ages. I’ll make something for you if you’re hungry, but if not…” They shrugged. “Your next dose of pain meds is due in an hour or two. I’ll come get you when it’s time.”

And just like that, they left the room. Marcus’s hand shook. The hammer slid from his grasp.

Continued here

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Marcus wasn’t bored, either. He’d been on enough boring missions to be grateful for the fucking miracle he’d been presented. He and Jake slept, and talked, and did gentle conditioning so they wouldn’t get stiff. They didn’t push it; Marcus’s ribs were badly bruised at the absolute least, and he suspected Jake’s were worse, no matter how brave a face he put on. They slept and talked some more. Jake told Marcus all about his small hometown an hour north of River City, filled him in on the best spots to hang out, sneak booze, and hide out from adults that didn’t approve of him kissing boys.

Marcus told Jake about some of his earliest missions – stories he’d thought that Jake would find thrilling. Jake’s face became unreadable and he said, “that’s fucked up that they did that to you, Marcus.”

After Jake did that twice, Marcus stopped telling him about his missions. He was grateful, then, that Jake didn’t ask him about how he ended up in foster care, because Jake probably would have said the same thing about that whole situation, too.

Besides, it’s not like Marcus remembered much of it. Flashing red and blue lights, a girl who was a little taller than him, trying to hold him tight…

Dreams, probably. There wouldn’t be any way for him to check. If he searched the police records for ‘foster care’ and ‘1 boy, 1 girl,’ it would probably come back with hundreds of hits, if not thousands. He wasn’t even sure which year he was dealing with. He thought he might be… four? Five? But he wasn’t even sure about that.

He hadn’t thought of that in years. He shook it off. He was, unbelievably, relieved to have left it in the past this long.

He stared at the pile of supplies on the floor, which had dwindled down to one protein bar each. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. They would have to leave tomorrow.

“How you feeling?” he said, raising his gaze to Jake. “You think you’ll feel good enough to leave tomorrow?”

Jake took his own deep breath, as if testing his ribs. Marcus watched the play of pain across his face. “Yeah,” Jake said, a little uneasily. “I think so.”

Marcus didn’t say, You’ll need to be. We’re about out of food.

He knew Jake knew it. It was past time he stop treating Jake like a child, and start treating Jake like…

Well, like Jake. The smart kid. The good man. The Levy Marcus trained.

“Alright.” Marcus nodded. “We’ll sleep here one more night, leave for the train station in the morning.”

“Yup.” Jake’s lips trembled. “We got a little turned around on our way here, but… it’s not far. We can watch for a while, see how people dodge the fare. People do it everywhere; I guarantee it happens here. We’ll see how they do it and go when it’s safe. And once we’re on the train…” He shrugged. “Get off in a town or two. Last time I was on the train, they didn’t check tickets for the first few stops anyway. We should be good. And if we’re not… run.”

Marcus huffed. “Simple as that.”

“Simple as that.” Jake’s voice was hollow, but his smile was real.

“Alright,” Marcus said, pulling Jake close. “Tomorrow, then. We’re getting out of here tomorrow.”

Jake nodded against Marcus’s neck. “Yeah,” he whispered.

Marcus nosed into Jake’s hair. “And once we’re safe… real showers, for the both of us. Fresh clothes. A bed, for you. A shave, for me.”

“Hey, I need a shave, too,” Jake said, gently shoving Marcus.

“Mm-hm.” Marcus nudged Jake’s chin, feeling the scruff there.

Jake just smiled at him. That was it – it was so simple, so easy and calm and simple. Jake in his arms, smiling, face still bruised but healing. Marcus’s throat tightened. He leaned forward, tapped their foreheads together.

They hadn’t kissed since that first night, either. That felt good, too – felt right. Jake hadn’t tried again, hadn’t asked again. Marcus hadn’t wanted it – except for when he couldn’t tell if he did or not.

He wanted this. Jake in his arms, in the quiet and calm. He swallowed hard. Dread crept up the back of his neck.

He would have done anything to stay in that apartment forever, in the quiet and calm, with Jake, with nothing but this. His eyes burned when he thought about what waited on the other side of that door.

“Tomorrow,” he said again, as if to reassure himself that he still had time. “It’ll be… it’ll be tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jake said. He leaned in close again. Marcus just held him, and felt Jake breathing steadily in his arms.

Continued here

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“Hey, Morja, lay still. Okay? Don’t try to move, lay still.”

Fuck no, no, no, nonono?

The voice comes from far, far above him and Morja’s eyes squeeze tight. He obeys, of course he obeys, freezing still as the light pulsing against his lids, flickers with shapes of shadow. What is happening to him? He’s breathing too hard, too fast, each gasp a stab in his chest and his middle (ribs, stomach, chest). He tries, tries, to obey the idea of stillness but his heart thuds in his ears (too loud, too loud, he can’t hear voices, commands, he can’t listen). There is thudding in his head, dull and slow, in his ribs, his arm, his shoulder, and he can’t stop gasping for air, a shudder of spiky heat pulsing through him with every drag of his lungs. 

Fuck, he can’t even obey when lying down, can he? 

A hand brushes over the top of his head and it’s warm and light and Morja forces discipline on himself. Don’t flinch. Don’t cry out. Hold still. 

“There we go, just lay still, okay, Morja?”

The hand strokes over his head again (doesn’t take a grip of any hair, doesn’t wrap a buckle around his brow and tighten, doesn’t slam-) and Morja’s hands curl into fists at his sides. He isn’t in cuffs. Why isn’t he in cuffs? 

“Breathe, Morja, it’s okay. You’re doing great, just breathe.”

He is breathing - too fast, he’s going to make himself dizzy, bad to breathe that fast, burn through his oxygen. Slow down - control yourself. Morja’s body doesn’t want to obey. Morja obeys anyway. He forces air through his nose slower, holding onto breaths that drum loudly in his head, his ears, his fingertips, until he lets them go. The hand on his head doesn’t stop moving across his hair and his breath follows the pattern - he can obey that. 

The stabbing of each breath is softer now, duller knife, and he can think around it, he can function enough to pay attention. 

Assess.

He’s…dressed. Differently than he was…before - something thin and papery that crinkles when he breathes and he is covered up to the waist by a blanket: thin, soft, light. He still…has his underwear on (and his stomach clenches and he ignores it, assess). He’s laying on a bed, maybe, something cool and flat and not as hard as a cot-mat. There is nothing on his ankles - testing with a small flex (not a kick) of his feet - and nothing on his wrists. No- no restraints at all. No new injuries that he can feel, just the pounding in his head. Something is in his elbow - he flexes his arm - a needle. 

Two ribs bruised, maybe cracked. Stomach bruised, nothing feels broken inside. A spot on his head feels tight and swollen, his pulling frown tugging at the tightness of a scab (bruised, a cut not deep enough to stitch). 

It just now is coming to him that the pain is … further away than it should be and his fingertips touch the plastic of a tube trailing down from the needle. 

Drugs. 

Morja shudders - forces himself to still. 

“Morja, it’s Sarai, remember me? It’s- it’s Doctor Baptiste, you’re in the infirmary wing right now, and you had kind of a bad fall. Can you open your eyes for me a little, Morja?” 

Can he?

It doesn’t matter if he can’t, if he can’t face the room he’s in, can’t face- can’t see how she’s looking at him - he must. 

A face floats above him, sharp and brown and warm, a mass of curls blocking some of the glare overhead, and the doctor- Sarai leans over him. Morja can’t look down or away so all he sees is detail. The freckles on her nose. The furrow of her brows. Little flecks of black on the tips of her lashes, thin smudges under her eyes. And…she’s smiling.

That can’t be right. 

Why would she be smiling at him? 

Why is she…petting his hair? 

No frown, no sharp mouth, no narrowed eyes, no…bad smile either (toothless, lips pressed tight), not obviously. There is no sign in her body of when someone is about to strike. She looks at him like…like she always looks at him. 

Morja’s head throbs again and he blinks hard and fast. 

“Hey, I’m sorry the light’s so damn bright, Morja.” Her hand strokes over his head again and if he weren’t paying such sharp attention, he would barely notice that she’s nudging his head, tilting it side to side a little as she talks. “I had to make sure I saw everything and didn’t miss an injury, okay?” 

Oh. That…makes sense. He was stripped, after all. 

His stomach hurts, cold and empty and cramping, hollowed out with a dread his mind can’t think about. 

“You hit your head when you- when you fell, Morja, so can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” A gloved thumb pulls at his upper lid, one after another, and Morja holds still, watching, as she holds up two fingers. He names them, barely able to hear his own words over the hum in his ears, the thudding that drowns out so much. Get control of yourself - you’re not even incapacitated, you can still pay attention. “Good, that’s very good, Morja.”

Sarai’s mouth turns down, quick and sharp, before pulling up into a soft smile again and Morja’s stomach clenches again. 

“I’m sorry I had to cut your clothes off, Morja, I wouldn’t have done it unless I had any other choice. You- you had a lot of blood on you that I didn’t see before.”

“…It wasn’t my blood.” 

The sound of his voice comes out dry and cracking. Morja blinks against the burn of the lights and looks away from the shadow cast by Sarai’s face. The weight of her hand leaves his head with the motion but there’s no correction, no order to stay still. She doesn’t even put her hand back. All he can see beyond the edge of the cot is a blue curtain, drawn around all sides of the bed where he lays, but the room is still and quiet. Morja doesn’t see any…guard posted nearby, no boots under the hem of the cloth, no shadows or footfalls beyond. 

No narrowed blue eyes glaring, no hand gripping the baton to strike or shock him, make him roll to the floor. No demand to get on his belly ringing out across the room. No enormous shadow looming in anger by the foot of the bed, not even needing a weapon to punish him, to break him open with fists and feet and whatever else on his body he chooses. A face screwed up in rage, booming voice yelling, big hands tearing him from the bed, from his clothes, and-

“I know, Morja. Do you…remember waking up when you got here? Anything at all?” 

The dark outline of Doctor Sarai sharpens and grows on the curtain as the white-brightness of the light lowers. The throbbing in Morja’s head lowers too - he barely feels the flicker of gratitude through the heaviness in his stomach, the tightness of his chest. 

It comes to him, just now, that a 

Morja swallows and tastes metal again, shaking his head sharply.

“No, a- Doctor.”

He flexes his wrists. The cuffs were too loose to leave bruises. He still feels his heartbeat in his wrists, quickquickquick. He still feels the dry itch of blood, her blood, under his nails, packed into the creases of his palms. 

Claudia’s blood. 

He feels a dip at his right side, the weight of the doctor- of Sarai sitting onto the edge of the bed, and Morja’s stomach dips with it. His insides sink with the cold weight of what he knows. What is beyond the floating island of this too-comfortable cot. What he’s done. 

“Morja? Honey, can you look at me?”

Morja breathes in too fast and the pain of the breath, the throb in his ribs, breaks his focus on the curtain. He might want to flinch from the blow (weak, disobedient, defiant) - this reminds him to obey. So he squeezes his teeth together, keeps any shameful sounds swallowed down, and turns his head back to face her and whatever she is going to do to him. 

He sees right away that Doctor Sarai’s lashes are wet, tears pooling under her eyes blinking brightly, and Morja’s stomach twists - she’s dead, she’s dead - before Sarai shakes her head. 

“Claud’s going to be okay, Morja. She’s at a hospital, recovering, and…she told me everything. I- Morja, thank you?”

…What? 

Morja’s breath - forced, he needs to breathe or he’ll pass out - is strained with the effort of steadiness. His fists grip the too-soft blue sheets until his knuckles ache. Keeps control of himself and does not whimper. Sarai’s mouth softens, smiles less tightly, as he looks over her face, searches for lies, for something unsaid, can’t find it. He can’t look away from her, watching and waiting for something horrible to fall from her mouth. 

“Thank you, Morja. She’s going to live, gonna be fine, because of you.”

Claudia is alive. 

Morja’s fingers clench and unclench in the sheets, shoulderblades loosen back against the too-soft pillow, and all the breath leaves him at once. 

“She- Claudia will be okay.”

Morja repeats, an echo, because he has to hear it again.

She’s alive.

“Yeah, Morja,” Doctor Sarai’s voice shaky and thick and soft. “Claudia will be okay. She’s got some head trauma but nothing seems wrong with her brain function so far, the bleeding stopped, and she’s- well, she’s alive. Morja, I heard from her how you…”

She’s going to be okay. 

Morja drags breath in, tries to, only pants short and fast with his mouth. A beepbeepbeep blares harshly by the side of the bed. His aching ribs  - not aching enough, blunted at the edges by fuzziness of drugs, tighten with pain at his gasping, sharp and spreading and deep. Fuck. 

“Morja, breathe with me - in…out. In…out.” 

A warm hand cups over his knuckles, pressing into the hard spaces between the clenching ridges, and with the push, Morja breathes out. And breathes in. And breathes out, again, evenly - obeying the hiss and huff of Sarai’s pattern, his eyes coming up to her face again. 

“I’ve adjusted the dosage of your pain meds in the IV, so you should be feeling it soon. I’m sorry you weren’t getting the full dose right away, had to do my checkup and all that. Would you say your pain is closer to a ten in severity or closer to a five? And I say five cause I know for damn sure it’s not at a one right now, sweetie.”

She looks at him like she’s…worried - wet eyes and soft mouth and a little wrinkle between her eyebrows. 

Worried about him. About if he’s hurting. Morphine and no cuffs and checkups and a soft bed and- does she not know? That he has done the opposite of earned this worry, earned anything more than not being allowed to die? If that’s what they’ve decided for him and he doesn’t know why that would make sense if he was in a cell one moment and given drugs the next because he can’t figure it out and they must not know. 

“I’m sorry?” Morja manages to say because there’s always something. Because here, there is definitely a something. Because her blood is still dry under his nails, on his clothes somewhere, because it didn’t need to happen in the first place. Because- if he’d known what to do, if he’d been faster, if he’d obeyed his new allegiances, if he hadn’t frozen stiff and scared like the trainees they were too late to find. “I’m sorry she got hurt, Doctor.”

He looks away from the brightness of her face and down at his own hands, the bruises on his fists, the streaks of dust still deep in the grooves of his scars, the red that didn’t wash out. 

“I’m so sorry.” Morja says again because he can’t imagine a situation where he shouldn’t say it, shouldn’t always be saying it, really, because all he could wasn’t enough. “I- I apologize, Doctor, I-”

He feels Sarai’s hand over his knuckles tighten, then the touch of her other hand on his shoulder. Through his thin paper gown, the weight of her palm presses over his bullet-scar. Warmth sinks into the ridge, the ugly failure pressing up against her comfort, and his throat goes tight, choking off his useless words. 

“Morja?”

He closes his eyes. 

It disobeys an order - to look at her, to face it - and yet. 

“Morja, listen to me now. She is alive because of you. Cobi is alive because of you. Claud saw that. She said, shit, through the goddamn drugs, that you did everything you could when they tried to kill you all.” Her voice drops, so quiet it drops beneath the beep of the machines. “Sh doesn’t blame you for hesitating. And neither do I.”

How? How can that be? 

“Morja, do you…hear that I’m thanking you right now, not blaming you?” 

He jerks with a flinch, even as her voice falls so softly. He should nod. The hands don’t retreat or press in harder. They just stay there, keeping him in place as he reels. He should say yes and agree and be quiet because should it matter why to someone like him? 

“…Why?” It croaks out of him still, even as his body braces, opening his eyes to face whatever comes of being so bold. “Me- Doctor, why?” 

Something changes in Sarai’s face that Morja can’t figure out. Maybe it’s the hum of drugs, already fading, around the edges of his mind, that make him speak when he shouldn’t, that make him bad (worse) at knowing what a face means. But it passes too soon to study. 

Her eyes and mouth open at once and close together, lips pressed tight, lids squeezed closed. It’s only a second but in that moment, the only thing Morja sees is tired. The shadows under her eyes are so dark, her body sags forward, for a moment, almost like she is holding herself up against his body. She isn’t - that would not make sense - but he feels the weight of her hands get heavier against his shoulders through the moments that he does not breathe. 

“Because, Morja… fuck, honey, you did something very brave? And very good.” 

Oh. 

Morja’s head hurts. 

“I just got out of the building?” He croaks, mouth shaping words slowly as a ripple of fuzzy painlessness pulses through him, making his stomach dip at the lack. “Just got us out of the building.”

Sarai smiles and fuck but he can’t figure out what it means that it’s so sad but also not angry.  

“Yeah, Morja.” She nods and her painted thumb nail catches at his paper clothes as she rubs warm circles over the throb in his shoulder. His head feels warm and he should be worried that he can’t really clench his fists hard as he wants to. Well, he is worried and it’s not great, but he can’t really feel so scared about it. “I bet it was hard to know what to do?” 

Yeah, yeah? How does she know? It was? 

He nods hard, head drumming dully, and the cut on his forehead feels far away too now. 

“‘M sorry.” His tongue catches behind his teeth and he forces his mouth to slowly shape things in different pieces. “Was. Should-n’t be ha-rd.” 

“It’s okay that it was hard, Morja, I wouldn’t have known what to do at all? I bet it was really scary and confusing, having to figure out how to solve it yourself.”

He nods again, tight and small and frantic. Yesyesyes she explains it so well. His head is so heavy and sinking so deep into a cool pillow and he doesn’t really remember sinking backwards so much. His stomach does a flip again and he hears a beepbeepbeep. 

“You’re feeling the hit of the drugs right now, Morja. Do you remember me telling you the dose should hit pretty hard?” 

He doesn’t, shaking his head, and that’s fucking worrying. But if she hasn’t corrected him for being useless, she probably won’t correct him for forgetting something if this is normal. Probably. She’s really nice for keeping him more comfortable than he needs to be to stay alive. Really strange Medici. Sometimes anotéros do strange stuff, sorry, but that’s okay cause they can do what they want. 

Shadows dance over his eyes and he didn’t even know he closed them again. He feels the so-soft-so-nice hand over his hair again and the too-light-too-blue blanket slides up over his chest and his arms. Everything is fuzzy and lifting his hands is slow, which is cold-shivery-worry in his stomach, but it’s somehow hard to care that it’s scary. 

Things are scary all the time and scary isn’t so bad with Doctor Sarai. 

“Claud is excited to see you when she’s better, you know? Cobi is too, he’ll wanna give you a big hug but he’s gonna have to wait until your ribs are better, or else. But you don’t have to see anyone unless you’re up to it.” 

Morja makes a sound that should be a yesma’am and is instead sorryifmad? He needs to not talk. He knows that, at least. Nobody needs him to talk. That’s not so bad. 

“Not mad at all. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Morja, I promise. Really.” 

That’s for sure not true but Morja guesses they don’t have to be mad if they don’t wanna be. A buzzing-heavy-warmth washes through him again and he opens eyes he didn’t know he closed. He’s gone longer than this without sleep, he knows that, and he just slept.

“How does taking a nap sound, honey?” 

He just slept. Why would he need to sleep before he sleeps? He’s not at a baby and his time is not his own.

He’s so tired.

Can’t sleep.

A thumb, cool and callused, strokes over the line between his hair and his forehead and he feels a sound punch out of him before he can catch it in his mouth, the sigh of a dog slumping down, tired, so tired and warm…

“Closing your eyes is close enough, promise I’ll wake you if there’s anything you’ve gotta do, yeah?”

It’s okay?

“It’s okay, Morja. You’ve done enough hard work for today. Rest.”

Permission releases his shoulders, fighting to stay squared, and the shadows of his eyelids drown out everything but the sweeping tingles of fingers, ointment over the wound, over and over and over.

~

things are finally looking up for morja…hopefully…😈 but fuck, man, poor guy doesn’t think he can do anything right and sarai is more than willing to banish the notion for him. 🥹🥹🥹

taglist: @haro-whumps @whump-tr0pes @much-ado-about-whumping @wolfeyedwitch @painwithoutplot

@whumping-every-day @stoic-whumpee @liliability @thingthatgo-whump-inthenight @whatgoeswhumpinthenight

@whumpzone @straight-to-the-pain @i-eat-worlds @string-of-broken-hearts @redwingedwhump

“Jake,” Marcus croaked. “Jake, you’re okay. You’re out of there. You… you’re okay.”

Tears formed in Jake’s eyes, rolled down his temples. He licked his lips and clutched Marcus’s hand tighter. 

Unprompted hatred boiled in Marcus's stomach, and he reminded himself to ask the team if the motherfucker who captured them was dead – and if not, made a mental note to take care of that issue next time he had a free weekend. He rose up on his knees, leaned over the kid. 

“Jake,” he said. “Come on, kid. You’re okay.” On instinct – working on an instinct he didn’t even know he had – he reached out, trying to brush the kid’s sweaty hair out of his face. 

Jake flinched away from Marcus’s hand. A cold chill clutched Marcus’s stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Jake whimpered. “I’m sorry, Marcus, I… Don’t, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t.” He turned his face away, squeezed his eyes shut.

Aisha appeared at Marcus’s shoulder. “Marcus,” she snapped. “You said—”

Marcus rounded on her. Even on his knees, even with her towering over him, she took a step back. 

She wet her lips. “You said you weren’t going to…” He watched her sift through the words, watched her find the right phrasing. 

He ground his teeth. “Say it.”

She set her jaw. “Don’t hurt him,” she finally said, flatly. 

Marcus’s stomach roiled. “Is that… really what you think of me?” he rasped. “That you think I would… after…?”

She glared down at him. “You’ve been a shit to him since he came on board,” she said. “You didn’t want him to come on that mission. And it’s his fuck-up that nearly got you both killed. So yeah, forgive me for being a little worried that you'll…”

Marcus turned back to Jake’s cot without a word, disgust roiling inside him. His hand was still firmly clasped with Jake’s. “Babysit me if you want,” he seethed. “That’s a fucking waste of resources. But I don't do the resource management for this team, Aisha. I’m just the fucking gun.” He tapped the chip at the side of his neck and went back to ignoring her. 

She fucked right off. 

Good.

“Jake,” Marcus said, his voice softer now. Fuck, he was bad at this. Had never had to not be bad at this. “Jake…” He chewed his lip, reached out for Jake again. Slowly, gently, he brushed Jake’s hair away from his face. 

Jake still flinched. “Marcus, please,” he whispered. 

“Shh.” Nice and gentle. Marcus cupped Jake’s head. He’d seen someone do this in a movie, had seen Petra do this with their patients. It always seemed to help when Petra did it. “It’s okay, Jake. You did… you did… good.” Forcing the lie was fine. It was what the kid needed to hear right now.

Jake blinked his eyes open. More tears ran down the sides of his face, soaked into the cot below him. “I messed up,” he whimpered. “I’m sorry, Marcus.”

“It’s okay,” Marcus said. “You’re the only one who got hurt over it.”

Jake’s face twisted. He started to cry in earnest. 

Shit.

Jake released Marcus’s hand. 

Marcus bit his tongue. “Fuck, kid, I’m sorry,” he rasped. He leaned away from Jake, pulled away entirely. “I—”

Jake grabbed Marcus’s vest and pulled him nearly on top of him with both hands, sobbing hard into his shoulder. 

Marcus went rigid. The kid’s grip was weak; he could probably break away with no effort at all. It was an awkward position, being bent over the cot, clutched tight by a sobbing new recruit. Marcus squirmed. Jake sobbed harder. 

“I’m sorry,” Jake managed. “I know I messed up, Marcus, I… I’m sorry. Please don’t have me consigned. Please.”

Consigned. 

“No,” Marcus said immediately. He pushed Jake off of him, but let the kid keep a grip on his hand. “No. Not gonna let you get consigned, okay? This shit… it happens. We’ll debrief once you’re well enough. Get you rehabbed, and you’ll be good to go, okay? Truly. You’ll be fine. This shit happens.”

Not to me. But it happens.

Jake heaved a shuddering sob. “You… you promise?” he breathed. 

No.

“Yeah,” Marcus said through thin lips. 

Jake nodded. He trembled like a racehorse, but at least he settled on the cot, began to take deep breaths. Marcus reached out once again and smoothed his hand through Jake’s hair. This time, the kid didn’t flinch. 

Kid, Marcus thought derisively. I was, what, sixteen when I started out? He’s got to be five, six years older than that.

Regardless, Marcus could still remember the terror of consignment, and the threat it held for him once. 

Not anymore, though. No one would ever consign him now. Not when he was as good at… what he was good at… as he was. 

Jake, though. They might consign Jake. 

He couldn’t explain the curl of horror that twisted inside him at that thought. 

“Hey,” he said. Jake met his eyes, pushed into his hand like he was desperate for the touch. “Look at me. You’re gonna be… gonna be fine.”

And he would be… right up until the end, if they consigned him. It was quick, they said. Painless. 

At least. No one ever heard complaints. 

Fuck.

Jake nodded against his palm. “Okay, Marcus,” he whispered, voice still wavery. “Okay.” He squeezed Marcus’s hand. 

Marcus swallowed hard. Jake closed his eyes, settled back to the cot. 

When Marcus looked around, Aisha was watching both of them like a hawk.

Continued here

I tagged those who requested it, as well as those who seemed interested in chapter 1! Let me know if you want on or off the taglist

Jake froze. “What did I…?”

“Wh-while I was sleeping. What the… fuck… did you…?”

Marcus’s hand was shaking so badly he almost dropped the knife. The question was in his mouth, bitter like a poison capsule. He couldn’t spit it out.

You fucked me last night, didn’t you?

Jake shook his head. “I didn't do… anything, Marcus. I was asleep for—”

“What did you do?” This time, the question came out almost as a sob.

You fucked me last night, didn’t you?

But of course, he did. That’s what anyone would have done, when Marcus was vulnerable, weak, drugged-out. What’s what they all did, sooner or later, as soon as his guard was down and his back was turned. Rage poured through him, making him sick, even as his mind supplied the information that this was Jake staring back at him, Jake, not…

Not all the other…

Not so many…

The room swooped around him. Even sitting down, everything was going gray.

“Marcus,” Jake whispered. He didn’t move, though, didn’t make a single movement toward Marcus. That was good. If Jake came any closer, Marcus was going to kill him. “Marcus… I don’t know what…”

The knife lowered a few inches. Not because he wanted it to; his arm was shaking too badly for him to hold it up. 

He couldn’t pass out. He couldn’t pass out. He braced himself up with his other hand, groaned softly as a black spot appeared in his vision. 

He’d woken up with Jake breathing down the back of his neck. Just like…

He shuddered as the memory swept through him, quick and brutal. 

‘Hold still, Levy. Christ, it’s like you want to be consigned.’

He slumped sideways. “F-fuck,” he gasped.

This time, Jake moved in close. “Marcus,” he breathed. He didn’t even reach for the knife, left it right in Marcus’s hand. Marcus could swing it up toward Jake’s throat, punch it through the soft underside of his chin, bleed him out over his hands. He could put it through Jake’s eye. He could bury it in Jake’s heart – or his belly, if he really wanted Jake to suffer. 

Jake left the knife in his hands, when it would have been so fucking easy to twist it away, pin him down, and—

Marcus’s stomach heaved. 

“Let me help you,” Jake said, easing Marcus down to the carpet.

“Please,” Marcus whispered. “Please, please, don’t.”

Even through the gray clouding his vision, Marcus watched realization dawn on Jake. He yanked his hands away, leaned back on his heels as he stared down at Marcus.

The tip of the knife was right there, hovering beneath his right armpit. Even weak and bled out, Marcus could just…

He would. If Jake made a single move to hurt him, to do worse, he would. 

He could undo everything he thought had been happening for the past few days with one well-placed slice of his knife. He wouldn’t even feel anything about it. If Jake made a single move toward doing the thing that Marcus felt – feared – was coming, he would. 

“Oh,” Jake breathed. “Marcus… no.”

That one word was almost worse than if Jake had actually done it. Rage gripped him again. He tried, once again, to struggle upright. He didn’t make it very far before he collapsed to the floor. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t force his brain to form words and push them out of his mouth. He just glared at Jake from his spot on the floor – a broken Lev, wordlessly begging someone not to hurt him.

Again.

Funny how things always seem to come full circle.

Jake wet his lips. “Is that… is that… what you’ve been protecting me from?” he rasped. 

Marcus wound up and swung – with the hand that wasn’t holding the knife. 

Jake blocked the punch, fell clumsily backwards. Marcus didn’t follow up, just lay gasping and shaking face-down on the floor. The knife had fallen from his hand. He didn’t move to pick it up. 

There was a shift, as Jake moved. “Marcus…”

“Don’t touch me,” Marcus sobbed weakly. “Please… don’t f-fucking touch me.”

I can’t stop you. Please, please don’t.

“I won’t. But I… fuck, Marcus, I didn’t know.”

Marcus sneered, his cheek pressed against the carpet. “Everybody fucking knows,” he whispered. 

“I didn’t. Marcus… I swear, I had no idea. Who…?”

“Everyone.” He shuddered with shame, with rage, with lingering shock. “Everyone who wanted to. I’m a Lev, Jake – everyone. Officers. Soldiers.” His teeth ached with how hard he was gritting them. “Aisha, once.”

Jake gasped softly. “She—”

“You can do anything you want when you can just shock the motherfucker who doesn’t want it,” he seethed. He mustered his strength, rolled onto his back. His eyes were burning. He pressed a hand against them. 

“Marcus.” 

The gentleness in Jake’s voice was far more violent than the remembered hands on his body, the remembered assaults that had left him sore and limping for days. 

He’d been whipped, for the limping. It was inexcusable to be in anything but peak performance. 

He forced a laugh, pulled his hand away from his eyes. “Whatever. She was young. It was just the one time. It only starts to suck when you become someone’s favorite.” 

He felt Jake’s eyes on him, as real as any touch. Heat rose in Marcus’s cheeks. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Jake said. “I would’ve been… I just didn’t know.”

Marcus forced himself to shrug. “You didn’t do it.”

Fuck, but the kid’s gaze was piercing. “Don’t do that,” he murmured. 

Marcus met his eyes, startled. “Don’t do what?”

“You know what.” 

The silence stretched between them for a long, aching minute. Jake reached behind him, picked up a bottle of water from the pile. He cracked the seal and passed it to Marcus. “Drink,” he said. “You look pale.” 

Marcus did as Jake said – or, he tried, he could take the bottle, but he could barely hold his own head up to drink. He managed in stages – heaving upright to take a gulp, swallow, and collapse. Again and again, until the bottle was halfway empty. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort. He glanced at Jake; he was looking at him steadily.

“Please let me help you,” Jake said.

Marcus hesitated, for a beat too long. Then another. 

Jake’s lips pressed together. “I won’t do anything bad. I swear I won’t. I… I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you, Marcus.” 

Familiar rage curdled in his stomach, flared so hot he felt he’d vomit up the water he’d drunk. 

Alongside the rage, something else moved, too, something he didn’t recognize – because it was new. 

“I… I know,” he said, and as he said it he realized it was the truth. 

Jake crawled forward, gently propped Marcus upright. Marcus picked up the bottle again and drank as deeply as he could. He drained the bottle and set it down. Jake moved to lower Marcus to the floor again. 

He was so warm. And although Marcus wasn’t as cold as last night, a chill still gripped him. He clutched at Jake’s sleeve. It was stiff with dried blood and sweat. 

Jake didn’t move; he just sat with Marcus, cradling his head and shoulders in his lap. He barely touched him otherwise, though. 

That was good. Marcus didn’t think he could stand it if Jake touched him any more than this. 

“M-my leg feels… better, this morning,” he said weakly. 

“That’s good.”

“Whatever the NanoStat is doing, it’s working. Maybe in a few hours… once I can be upright… I can try putting weight on it?”

Jake nodded. His hands were at his sides – not like he was holding them away from Marcus, but not like he was about to touch him, either. Marcus shivered, bracing for the touch anyway. It never came. 

“That sounds good,” Jake said. “While I was out there, I noticed a few places that might be good for us to lie low. Places that aren’t so close to the base. They’re closer to the city, but… maybe that’s better.”

“Probably is,” Marcus said. 

More silence. Marcus listened to the sound of Jake breathing. The wind echoed through the empty warehouse around them. 

“Jake,” he croaked. “I… thank you.”

Jake shifted. “For what?”

Marcus couldn’t answer that. Any answer he could think of sounded either too sad or too pathetic to his own ears, so he didn’t give one. He just lay still, slumped against Jake’s knees, watching the shadows crawl across the wall. When Jake passed him a protein bar, he took it. 

He rested. He slept.

Continued here

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They looked away. “You’re not the approved courier,” they said flatly.

All the air left Marcus’s lungs. “Yeah, no shit,” he said. “The approved courier doesn’t like waking up at four in the fucking morning, sent me to do his dirty work. Will you open the fucking door?”

The Lev continued to stare straight ahead, but they snorted. “Approved courier’s a woman.”

Fuck. Aisha. Marcus should have known, and it was a rookie fucking mistake. Desperation surged under his skin. He peered at the Lev, eyes moving over them for no longer than five seconds. This one did have a gun on them. But they were new, and tired.

And Marcus had a knife.

“Look,” he said, wandering closer to them, hands in his pockets. “You got me, okay? He’s not being taken to be consigned. Not right away. Brass said they wanted him made an example of. Sent me to take him… well. You know what kinds of places Levs get sent when people want examples to be made of them, right?”

At that, the Lev’s eyes flicked to his.

Fear. There we go. He might not even have to kill them.

A floor above them, a door opened, and footsteps began to descend the stairs.

“Fuck,” Marcus breathed. No one moved. He held himself still, forced himself to hold still until Aisha reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the block of cells. He managed a small stab of satisfaction, seeing how she looked fucking haggard – and surprised to see him.

Guess she hasn’t gotten much sleep since she got her latest team member consigned. So sad for you, boss.

“Marcus,” she said, voice husky with sleep. “Are you…?”

Marcus rolled his shoulders. This could work just as well. “Was wondering if you’d let me accompany you,” he said. “This was my recruit. Kinda feels right that I should see him through til… the end.”

She chewed her lip as her eyes wandered down the line of cells to the end. Then, she sighed. “Fine.”

She turned and walked down the hall, glancing in each cell until she reached Jake’s. Marcus followed along behind her. As he did, he checked her belt; no gun, but she had her cuffs on her – and a muzzle that bounced against her hip. He swallowed tightly. They stopped in front of Jake’s cell. 

To his credit – the kid was keeping his shit together better than Marcus thought he would – Jake stood up, pulled his shoulders back. Tears swam in his eyes, but didn’t fall. He met Aisha’s eyes. Then he looked at Jake. 

“Okay,” he said softly. 

Aisha raised her hand at the Lev standing at the other end of the hall. They hit a button on the panel they were guarding, and Jake’s cell door slid open. Aisha stepped into the cell. She reached for her cuffs. 

“No,” Marcus said. “I… I can use my cuffs.”

She didn’t fight him on it. That was good. 

Silently, and with only a slight tremble of his mouth, Jake put his hands behind his back. Marcus cuffed his wrists firmly together. He pushed Jake out of the cell. Jake went willingly, with only the slightest pressure from Marcus’s hand. He began walking down the hall, but Aisha stopped him. 

“Hang on,” she said, and reached for the muzzle at her hip. “Protocol.”

The tears in Jake's eyes spilled over, at that. She unclipped the muzzle from her belt, fit the hard black plastic over Jake's nose and under his chin. She buckled the nylon straps behind his head. Tears slipped behind the muzzle, but Jake remained silent. 

Not that he could have spoken, with the muzzle on. It was for more than just preventing bites. 

“Okay,” Aisha said softly. “We can go.”

She led the two of them out of lock-up. As the air grew warmer, Marcus felt a bead of sweat crawl down his back. He followed Aisha out into the night, through the courtyard, down a long walkway toward the building that loomed over the entire base. Even from this far away, and in the dark, Marcus could read the words Justice Center in solid black letters lit by floodlight across the front of it. All the lawyers and accountants and assholes with desk jobs sat nice and comfy in the offices inside. They didn't have to look at the consigned Levs that disappeared into its lower levels, exterminated and discarded so no one ever had to feel bad about the process. 

Jake would just… disappear. And no one would bat an eye at having such an anomaly eradicated. A blip on the radar. A wrinkle in the uniform. A misstep in the parade.

“It wasn’t a fucking mistake.”

They passed a branch in the walkway. A building rose beside them, casting a shadow in the relentless floodlights illuminating the courtyard.

Marcus released Jake’s arm, shoved him deeper into the shadows. His knife was out of his belt faster than Aisha could turn around. He grabbed her, dragged her off the walkway and behind the small, squat building. His knife pressed under her throat. She grabbed his wrists.

“He’s not getting consigned,” Marcus said, voice low and flat. Jake stared at him with huge, terrified eyes, frozen where he stood. Marcus jerked the knife hard against the underside of Aisha’s chin. “Nod if you understand.”

Aisha didn’t nod. She wet her lips. “Marcus—”

“No, no discussion. Yes or no decision. He’s not getting consigned. You need to not fuck with me on this. Got it?”

Aisha made her decision.

She reached for her pocket. Marcus felt the chip in his neck flare with remembered pain – before she even touched the remote that would activate the shock. 

He sliced the knife through her throat, severing flesh, sinew, and blood vessels with one stroke. She let out a choked, animal sound, clutching the gaping wound. Marcus let her fall. She bled out over the concrete and was dead in thirty seconds. 

He cleaned the knife on her shirt, careful to get the blood out of the grooves near the tip of the blade. It wasn’t as good as sanitizing it, but… it would have to do. He grabbed Jake and shoved him against the wall. 

Jake cried out, the sound muffled by the muzzle. Marcus pinned him against the rough concrete wall, grateful that Jake’s hands were still cuffed. He didn’t need Jake fighting him on this. It was going to suck enough doing this without analgesics. 

He braced his legs against Jake’s, leaned his weight against Jake’s chest. He shoved his forearm against Jake’s cheek, baring his neck and pinning his head against the wall. He brought the tip of his knife against Jake’s neck, right above where Jake's own chip lay, and began to cut.

Jake cried out. He sobbed and thrashed against Marcus’s hold on him. The muzzle caught his desperate screams, but Marcus just leaned harder against him.

“Shh, kid,” he rasped. “I need to get this out of you. We won’t get very far if they can both track and electrocute you remotely, will we?”

Jake shuddered, sobbed weakly. His body strained against Marcus, but he no longer thrashed under him. 

Marcus sliced through the first few layers of skin, peeled them aside. Blood ran from the wound. Hidden in shadow, it was difficult to see what he was doing. Still, he caught a peek of a small chip, a quarter of the size of his thumbnail. He wedged the tip of his knife beneath it and pried it up, toward the opening of the wound. Jake wailed.

“I know,” Marcus soothed. “Almost done.”

The edge of the chip poked out of the wound. Marcus dug at it with his nails, pulled it out. He tossed it into the grass beside Aisha’s exsanguinated body. 

“There,” he huffed, leaning away from Jake. “You’re done.” 

Jake took several wobbling steps away from Marcus. He looked at Aisha, then back to Marcus. The wound on his neck still bled briskly. 

“Here.” Marcus unclasped the muzzle from Jake’s face. He wiped Jake’s blood off his hands, then pressed his fingerprint into the cuffs to unlock them from Jake’s wrists. “Put pressure on that wound, okay? The bleeding will stop in a bit, but pressure will help.” Once again, he cleaned his knife - this time, on his own shirt. 

Jake pressed his hands to his own neck. “Wh-why?” he croaked. He swallowed hard. “You said—”

“Yeah, I know what I said,” Marcus snapped. “Now shut the hell up. I need to concentrate. Need to get my own out, okay?” He pressed his fingers to his own neck, brought the blade to the scar where his own chip sat. 

Jake took a halting step forward, held out a hand. “I can—”

“No,” Marcus said. “I can do it myself.” He hissed out a breath as he pressed the knife into his own skin. He pressed one finger just below the blade, felt around for the telltale hard lump where the chip lay hidden. He cut deeper. His teeth itched as he felt the knife scrape silicone. 

“Fuck,” he griped. “That’s not a good feeling.” He pried the knife under the chip, scooped it toward the opening of the wound. Blood dripped down his neck, staining his shirt. He widened the cut, felt around for the chip. 

Jake’s eyes glittered in the half-light of the floodlights. “I can help,” he whispered.

“You can hold pressure on your wound,” Marcus said through clenched teeth. “Just… hang on. I'm almost…” The knife scraped the chip again. He slid it just a little deeper… there. He felt the chip drag out of the tiny pocket of scarring where it had resided for…

So long. Too fucking long. 

Marcus pinched the chip in his fingers, flicked it into the grass next to Jake’s. He cleaned his knife once more and tucked it back into his belt. 

“Okay,” he breathed, looking at Jake once more. “Okay, kid. We need to move.” He started to walk.

“Where?” Jake was already following. That was good.

“Not sure. Didn’t think that far ahead. But… off the base. We’ll start with that. After that…” Marcus started to jog. Thank fuck they scheduled his consignment for 0500. Almost no one’s awake. “…I don't know, okay? But we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” Jake said. He stayed close to Marcus’s side. “Thank… thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Marcus said darkly. “We’re not out yet. I may still get you killed tonight.”

Jake said nothing to that.

Continued here

The guy – who seemed to be doing his best impression of some spy shit he’d seen in a movie – grinned even wider, stopped his annoying stalking around the room to stand right in front of Marcus. Marcus scowled up at him from his seat.

Jake was crying into his gag already. Because of course he was.

“I think you’re more used to this kind of thing, aren’t you?” the man said, looking down at Marcus with a smile that made his skin crawl.

But yeah, he was more used to this kind of thing. He was the one who was trained in resisting enhanced interrogation. He was the one who’d been… interrogated… before. Which is why he had insisted on not taking Jake with him into the field, because he knew the guy couldn’t be trusted not to confuse his ass with a hole in the ground.

Fucking fantastic. Marcus snorted.

The guy reached into his jacket, drew out a knife. Marcus stiffened – and immediately pushed out a slow breath. A knife was better than a lot of things the guy could have pulled out: a gun. A drill. A butane torch. A jug of water and a rag. Cuts and stab wounds could be patched. He just needed to hold on until the team came.

And they were coming. He just needed to hold on.

He raised his gaze to the man again, lifted his chin.

Fuck you, buddy.

The man smirked. “Yes,” he said. “Thought so.” He turned and dragged the knife down Jake’s exposed arm.

All the breath left Marcus’s lungs as Jake screamed. Blood ran down Jake’s arm, red and dripping fast. Before Jake could even draw breath, the man cut him again.

The rope tightened on Marcus’s wrists as he leaned forward. His eyes flicked between the knife and the man’s face. Jake’s scream cut him right down to his marrow.

Fuck, NO.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Jake screamed again, and the sound was broken by his sobs.

And again.

And again.

Jake fucked up, he wasn’t supposed to be on this mission, but he didn’t deserve this.

I’m the one who’s trained for this.

To his horror, tears burned in Marcus’s closed eyes. He dipped his head, letting them fall. Between Jake’s heaving sobs, in the times where he was drawing breath, he could hear Jake’s chair rattling with his trembling. He shook his head, raised it. He forced his eyes open.

Jake was looking at him, eyes wide, desperately seeking his gaze. Blood ran down his arms in rivulets. A chill struck Marcus like a lightning bolt.

There was a plea in Jake’s eyes that Marcus could read as clearly as if he had spoken: give me this one small show of your humanity, please.

Marcus’s throat tightened. He didn’t look away. He held Jake’s gaze, gave him the only sliver of comfort he could offer.

I’m here. I’m watching. I won’t let you do this alone.

The man’s hand grasped Jake’s chin, lifted it. Jake whimpered and shied away. “Do you think your colleague would have screamed like you are right now?” he said, laughing.

Marcus snarled at him. Leave him alone, you fucking asshole. He’s not even supposed to be here. It was supposed to be me… It was supposed to be me.

Jake screamed again as he was cut. There was a puddle of blood beneath his chair now. If his torturer wanted him alive for a whole lot longer, he was going to have to slow down.

~

Jake’s head slumped forward in his chair. The bleeding on his arms had slowed, but Marcus wasn’t sure if that was because of the clotting – or because he didn’t have much blood in him left. Their torturer had been gone for a while – almost an hour.

Marcus wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or worried.

“Jake,” he mumbled through the gag. Jake only whimpered.

Fuck.

The door banged open, and their team rushed in.

Oh, thank fuck.

“Oh, Jake,” Aisha gasped, rushing to his side. River went to Marcus, immediately began cutting the ropes around his wrists. Petra, their medic, was in last.

River tugged the gag from Marcus’s mouth. “Took you long enough,” Marcus grumbled. The ropes snapped under River’s knife.

Without a second thought, he went to his knees in front of Jake and lifted his face. Marcus shuddered at how pale he looked. “Jake,” he croaked, pulling the gag from between Jake’s teeth. When the gag came free, there were bite marks ground into the cloth. “Jake, fucking come on—”

River tugged at his sleeve. “Come on, Marcus,” they said. “Let’s—”

“Get the fuck off me,” he snarled, throwing his elbow back at them. “Cut him loose. Do it now. He’s been cut to pieces and left to bleed for fuck knows how long. If that asshole knew what was good for him he would have… he would have done it to…”

He would have done it to me, not some fresh-out-of-academy, never-seen-his-own-blood recruit who never hurt anyone.

The others had all frozen. He looked around at them in disbelief. “Move,” he snapped. “You have the transport nearby?”

“Just past the end of this hall,” Aisha said, clipped. Petra was already winding bandages around Jake’s arms as River cut the ropes around his wrists as well. “Marcus… did he… what…?”

When the rope snapped, Jake slumped forward, right into Marcus’s arms. He clenched his jaw as Jake cried out. “Are you asking me for a sitrep?” he said coldly.

“We’ll need one at some point, yes,” Aisha said. “For now I’m…” She huffed. “I’m asking if you’re going to fucking snap at him if I let you this close with him. I saw the feed. I know it was his… I saw the mistake that landed you in this room. I’m making sure he’s safe to be in that transport with you.”

Without a word, Marcus lifted Jake and began to carry him from the room. Jake’s head buried in Marcus’s shoulder, and he stretched one blood-soaked arm around his neck.

“S-sorry,” he whispered against Marcus’s collar.

Marcus said nothing, just carried Jake to the waiting transport. Once Jake was settled in the cot, he collapsed beside it, shaking with adrenaline.